Haven
by SageQueen
Summary: Part 1 of Daughters of Andraste. Whenever Thedas has need, the Daughters of Andraste arise... An adventure-romancing of Dragon Age Inquisition (done Sagefic style), featuring FemQuisitor/Cullen, visiting Hawke & Amell, and many women kicking ass. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1 - Apostasy and Piracy

**DAUGHTERS OF ANDRASTE**

_**Whenever Thedas has need, the daughters of Andraste arise.**_

**They say that Andraste, Bride of the Maker, had a daughter. That daughter had daughters, and those daughters had daughters, and so on. What if one of those daughters stopped the blight? What if another championed Kirkwall? And what if another became known as the Herald of Andraste?**

**It might just take all three of them to save the world.**

**Primarily a FemQuisitor/Cullen adventure-romance, with visiting Hawke/Fenris and Amell/Leliana, too. Some smut, some humor, some drama. But mostly, women kicking ass.**

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_Hi, and welcome to my Dragon Age Fanfic, which I imagine will get a bit...long. You don't mind that, do you? I didn't think so. Anyhow!_

_I decided to post this here because many of my fave authors and readers are here on this site. However! please note that this site will update *last* of the 3 I maintain. SageFic will update first. The other FF site (which I can't write any semblance of it's archival-of-it's-own name) will update next. And as this fiction may contain smut - okay, *will* contain smut - and FF has some maturity restrictions, you may have to navigate out to other sites to pick up on certain steamy chapters._

_But! here's my fic on fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading, feel free to drop me a line, follow, whatever. I love to talk writing and fandoms._

_-sage_

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1st of Bloomingtide, 9:23 Dragon (or, 18 years ago)

It was Summerday and the roses were frozen.

A sheet of ice coated the entire back garden. Blooms of red and pink stood preserved as if under a layer of spun glass. There was even a little bee, trapped against the petals of an embrium blossom. The central fountain had stopped, mid-spray, and at the edge of the path, the marble statue of Andraste sparkled under a dusting of frost.

It was pretty neat, actually. Robert Trevelyan looked around with an amused grin, then idly reached out and plucked one of the frozen roses that grew at Andraste's feet. Robert had always liked roses: pretty and prickly, all at the same time. He knew boys weren't supposed to like things like flowers, especially roses, but he always had. And now, coated in ice, the rose looked even more interesting. It looked like it might stay fresh forever.

Looking down, Robert spotted another interesting flower. A single blossom of Golden Grace grew at the base of the statue, overlooked by the gardeners. Robert picked the little weed and held it up to the light. Through the ice, the petals glowed like amber. When Robert glanced up, he noticed that the statue of Andraste seemed to be smiling at him, the sun sparkling off of her stone lips. Robert smiled back. He'd take that as a good sign. And as for the rest of the signs, well, he could read *those* easily enough.

Robert gently placed the flowers in his coat pocket, shifted his pack on his shoulder, and set off across the gardens. The first part of the trail was simple. There was a clear line of ice on the path that quickly faded to a thinner line of snow. Once the snow ended, Robert just followed the footprints. The markings were about the size of his own feet, the toes dug in deeply and the heels not even touching the ground. Clearly, Robert thought, those feet had been running.

Robert glanced over his shoulder, noting that the garden was still empty and the Trevelyan House appeared quiet. Robert knew better. Within those stone walls, it was chaos. Someone had been shouting for smelling salts and someone else was crying and there were a lot of servants standing about, all whispering to one another. Robert had slipped out of the manor rather easily. He suspected that no one had even noticed that the cause of that uproar had already fled.

Robert hurried now, passing raised beds of white lotus and delphiniums, carnations and crystal grace. He quickly came to the edge of the gardens, where the gravel path disappeared down a small embankment and then gave way to a wide lawn. At the far end of the grass was a pond, and beyond that, a field of barley. To the right, however, there lay a large copse of trees. And beyond it, the beginnings of a forest rolled up into the hills. Far in the distance, Robert saw the snow-capped peaks of the Vimmark Mountains.

And even if Robert hadn't seen the footprints fading off in that direction, he would have known where to go. After all, *he* had been the one to find that hiding spot in the first place.

Robert set straight across the grass for the trees. He did his best to walk lightly, as he'd been taught. There were, he supposed, a few good things to be learned from the so-called 'noble art' of hunting. The killing part he could do without, but he did like the tracking bit. Within a minute, Robert was in the forest. He easily found his path and followed it deeper into the wood - over a root, under a branch, until at last, he came to a small clearing.

There was a little stream here, and a bridge. Well, the bridge was just two small logs over the water, but it was all Robert could manage when he'd built the thing two years ago. Now that he was nine, he could probably craft something better. But then, Robert realized, he wouldn't have to. He was never coming back *here* again.

With that thought, Robert's eyes went to the two rocks on the far end of the bridge. He had rolled them into this clearing last summer: two seats to serve two friends. And right now, one of the rock-chairs was occupied. A young girl sat on the stone, her head buried in her hands. Her long skirts were covered in mud, as were the toes of her slippers. Her shoulders shook and she was making the most horrible snuffling and weeping sounds that Robert had ever heard.

Well, Robert thought, that wouldn't do. His cousin never cried. He couldn't very well let her start *now*.

"It's alright Kate," he called to her. "I'm here."

Far from comforting Kate, this pronouncement seemed to alarm her even more. She looked up at once, revealing a reddened, tear-stained face. While Robert had dark, olive-toned skin and striking eyes of Rivani gold, Kate was fair, with fire-red hair and eyes of muddy grey-green. Beyond the difference in their coloring, however, the two had very similar features: the same straight nose, the same high cheekbones, the same long lashes and the same tendency to freckle from even the smallest exposure to sun.

Right now, Kate looked at Robert with wide eyes and she held out a hand in warning.

"Go away, Robert," she said, her voice breaking on a sob.

Robert just ignored her demand. He placed one foot in front of the other, balancing his way over the bridge, then jumped off the logs to land right in front of his cousin.

"I don't want to hurt you," Kate said, scrambling off of her rock and backing away.

"I know that," Robert replied. He plopped himself down on other stone. "And I know you won't."

"I might," Kate swallowed. "You saw what I did to the garden."

"I *did*," Robert said, looking up with bright eyes. "It was incredible."

"Incredible?" Kate blinked at him in surprise, her voice a squeak. "Robert it was... I cast..."

"Magic," he finished for her. "I know." He fished the two flowers out of his pocket, then frowned as he realized they had already begun to thaw and wilt.

"Aw," he frowned. "They were prettier frozen." Kate just stared at him.

"But," she said, slowly, "I cast a *spell*." She said it like it was a dirty word, the kind of word they sometimes overheard their older cousins say, but were cautioned never to repeat.

"You did," Robert nodded. "Ice on everything." He cocked his head at her. "You know, with your hair, I would have expected you to cast fire."

Kate just shook her head miserably.

"I like ice better," he added quickly, hoping that would make her feel better. "Seems more useful. And less dangerous."

"It's *all* dangerous," Kate wailed. "I killed the entire garden just by running through it."

"The flowers die every winter anyhow," Robert shrugged. "The gardeners can replant."

"Robert..." Kate's despair momentarily gave way to a more frustrated expression. Robert decided that was a good thing. He quickly held out the flowers.

"Can you do it again?" he asked. "Can you make them icy?"

Kate opened her mouth as if to protest, but Robert cut her off.

"Go on," he said, eagerly. "I want to see."

"Magic is evil," Kate murmured, speaking more to the flowers than to him.

"'Magic exists to serve man'," Robert said, quoting the one of the many Canticles that had been drilled into them as children. "And this would serve me. I'm a man. So there you go."

"You're a boy," Kate corrected, her eyes narrowing. "And I'm pretty sure that isn't what Andraste meant when she said that."

"Why not? Go on, Kate. I want to see it."

Kate looked at Robert doubtfully, then back at the flowers. She raised her hand, reached out for them, then dropped her arm to her side.

"No," she said. "I can't do it. I might..." She shook her head. "I only touched the fountain and then..."

"Come on, Kate," Robert said. "I know you can do this."

Kate looked at him, then at the flowers. As cautiously as if she was reaching for an open flame, Kate stretched out her hand. She took the flowers between her thumb and forefinger, and held them up before her face. Robert watched as her grey-green eyes narrowed, her red brows furrowing in concentration.

For a moment, there was nothing. Robert waited patiently. It never occurred to him that Kate might fail at this. After all, Kate was ten, a full year older than Robert. She was better at chess, faster at climbing trees, and just as good on horseback as he was. Robert might be the faster runner and better with a bow, but Kate was clever. He knew she would succeed.

His cousin didn't disappoint him. Slowly at first, but then with growing speed, frost began to form on the flowers. Little silver crystals stretched out like sprouting grass, flickering out from stem and petals until both the rose and the wildflower were coated in a fine, sparkling sheen. After a moment, Kate let out a breath and stared at her work.

"You did it," Robert said, grinning.

"I guess I did," she said, her voice soft and filled with wonder. Robert thought she almost looked pleased. Shyly, Kate tucked her hair behind her ear. With the other hand, she held the flowers out to Robert.

"Amazing," Robert said, taking only the rose. "I wish I could do that."

"No you don't," Kate said, her face falling as she considered the wildflower still in her fingers. She sighed, then sat down on her rock. She placed her elbows on her knees, the wildflower stem clasped between her pressed palms. She slowly rubbed one hand against the other, making the flower spin between them. In the thick copse of trees, the only sound was the trickle of the little stream.

"Mother cried," Kate said after a moment. Her voice came out very small.

"She was still crying when I left," Robert said. He idly poked at one of the frozen thorns on his rose.

"She said the Maker cursed me," Kate said. This time, the words were a whisper, ragged and hurt. Her wildflower stopped spinning. "She said I must make peace with my fate."

"Aunt Evelyn doesn't speak for the Maker," Robert told her. "My mother said so."

Kate just stared into nothing.

Robert frowned. Whenever his cousin got that wide-eyed, absentminded stare, Robert never knew what to expect. Kate could sit like that for a second and then suddenly make up her mind about something. Some of their best and worst misadventures had begun with that far-off look. But other times, Kate could stare like that for an hour and then say that she had been thinking nothing at all. Robert wasn't sure if that was something Kate did because she was a girl, or something she did because she had always been a little strange. Then again, he supposed it might be something she did because she was a mage.

"Well," Robert said, willing her to snap out of it, "What does it matter? I mean, who cares if you're a mage? You're still *you*."

"Don't *say* it," Kate said, her face falling. Robert frowned at her.

"What?" he asked. "That you're still you?"

"No! That I'm a..."

"Mage?"

Kate took a great gulping breath. "Now they're all afraid of me," she breathed.

"I'm not afraid of you," Robert said, stoutly.

"You should be," Kate told him. "I can cast magic. Demons will try and use me. And I've already started to have dreams of the Fade." She stared at her wildflower, her reddish brows furrowing.

"I can feel it, Robert," she said, solemnly. "I've always been able to feel it. I didn't know what it *was* before, but it was there. It felt a bit like the wind, only it was there even when the air was still. And now, all of a sudden, it's changed. Now, it's like I can reach *into* the Fade, grab hold of it with my..." She placed a hand on her chest.

"Boobies?" Robert suggested.

"No," she scowled at him. "My *heart*."

"Oh."

"The point *is* Robert," Kate said, sounding once again like her lofty old self, "I could *kill* someone. With my magic." She gave him a pointed look, as if to emphasize how very serious this was. Robert just shrugged in reply.

"So what?" he said. "Uncle Maxwell was going to train us to become templars. Templars kill people. How is that any different?"

Kate opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "It just *is*," she replied. Robert rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Kate could be just as stuffy as all the other Trevelyans. Thankfully, she usually got over it. But the rest of them were always serious. And that was why Robert was out here now.

"You don't have to be a mage," he told her.

"I will *not* become Tranquil," Kate said, shuddering as she looked over at him. "You remember that one we met in the market, selling enchanted rings? I won't end up like that, cut off from dreams and all dead inside. I *won't*."

"Of course you won't," Robert said. "I won't let them." But Kate wasn't listening. She swallowed and her shoulders began to shake again.

"They're going to take me away, Robert," she said, miserably. "They'll take me away, and I'll be a prisoner. I'll never..." She buried her head in her hands again, and Robert could think of only one thing to say to make her stop.

"I won't let that happen," he told her.

Kate said something, but as her hands were over her face, Robert couldn't understand it. He didn't need to hear it anyhow. He said again:

"I won't let that happen." He pulled his pack from his back and began opening it. "After all, they can't send you to the Circle if they can't find you."

"What do you mean?" Kate said, looking up and wiping her nose. Robert reached into his bag and handed her a wad of clothing.

"We're going to run away," he told her.

"What?" Kate stared at him, then at the clothes in her hand. "Robert, I can't..."

"*You* don't want to go to the Circle," Robert explained. "And *I* don't want you to go to the Circle. And I don't want to become a templar, either, so..."

"You have years of training before you become a templar," Kate said. "Anyhow, they can't *make* you take vows. But me, I have no choice..."

"Sure you do," Robert said, holding open his pack. "Look. I have what we need: clothes, sleeping roll, some food, all the money I could steal."

"You *stole* from our parents?"

"The locks on Uncle Max's desk were easy to pick," Robert said. "Anyhow, it's your money, if you think about it. Since you're a mage, you can't get married. So they won't have to pay for your dowry now."

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, for Kate's face screwed up and went red like she would start crying again.

"Anyhow, that's not the point," Robert said quickly. "I have my bow and arrows and you have your magic. We'll head down the coast or into the mountains. There are lots of caves out there."

"You want to live in a cave?" Kate sniffed, "Like a pirate?"

"We always wanted to be pirates," Robert said.

"Not *really*," Kate said, doubtfully.

"Why not?" Robert shrugged. "Just put on those clothes. You can't run away in a dress."

"Robert, this isn't a game," Kate said, sighing. "I *have* to go to the Circle. That's just what mages *do*."

"Why?" Robert asked her, growing frustrated by her arguing. "Because your family says so? Because the Chantry says so? Do you really want to be locked away and never be free again?"

"I might find a way out," Kate said, though she didn't seem to believe it. She looked at the clothing, then looked at the flower. "Some mages get to visit home, I hear. Some of them can leave if they get permission. It might not be that bad..."

With these hesitant words, Robert felt something tighten in his chest, something that just might be fear. He didn't want to admit that though. Robert hated that emotion more than any other.

"Look," he said, "If they take you away, then you belong to them - forever. They'll take your blood for a phylactery so they can track you down if you try and escape. Then someday *I'll* be a templar and it might be *me* who has to track you down." Robert didn't mean to go on, but the words came tumbling out anyhow. "Kate," he said, pleadingly, "you're more like my sister than my half sisters. If you leave..." He tried to think how to explain himself, but all he could come up with was:

"No one else in this family laughs, Katie. You're the only one who *laughs.*"

Kate seemed to consider that. She chewed her lip. "Mother laughs," she said after a moment. "Well, sometimes," she amended. Kate looked dejectedly at the flower.

"She won't laugh after this," Robert said. Kate swallowed and her eyes grew sad.

"I wonder if they ever laugh in the Circle," she murmured.

"Kate," Robert pressed. "Someday they'll make me a templar. Then *I'll* never laugh. I won't laugh, and you won't be there, and the house will be quiet and it will feel too big. Even if they plant new roses, it won't be the same."

He didn't know how to explain it beyond that.

"Please Kate?" he begged her, looking down at his pack. "Please run?"

Robert looked up to find Kate was gazing off into the woods with that far-off stare again. But this time, it lasted for only a moment.

"You're right," Kate said. She set the frozen flower down on the ground beside the stone. "If I have to be a mage, then I might as well be a free one."

"You'll do it?" he asked, grinning. "You'll become an apostate?"

Kate flinched at that word, but she nodded all the same. "Yes," she said, standing and clutching the borrowed clothing to her chest. "Let's go."

"Great!" Robert said, cinching up his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. "You won't regret this, Kate. Now we can live our lives however we want."


	2. Chapter 2 - Wildfire

1st of August, 9:41 Dragon (or, now)

It was All Soul's Day and the wildflowers were on fire.

The small blaze burned, a patch of flickering orange against the wide expanse of green lawn.

Kate ignored the fire, however. Instead, her attention was riveted on the man who had caused it. A mage in bloody robes stood before her. He blinked at her once, then looked down in confusion at the ice shard rammed through his chest.

Kate swallowed and let her hands drop. *Well, that was ghastly*, she thought. *Ghastly, but effective.*

She hadn't meant to make the shard quite that big. Kate suspected she had punctured both of the man's lungs and fractured most of his lower ribs. A smaller shard to the heart would have been cleaner and would have used less of her energy. As it was, Kate felt a bit drained.

But that might be a product of shock, she reasoned. Clearly, she was going into shock. Half of her mind had gone cool and rational, assessing the efficacy of her counterattack as if gathering notes for a paper. The other half of her mind was screaming. After all, she had just used her magic to kill someone.

*Dear Maker*, Kate thought. She had just used her magic to *kill* someone.

As Kate watched, the impaled man crumpled to the ground with a groan. Behind him, his fires suddenly flickered out, their magic extinguished. Kate let out a breath.

*Right*, she thought. Now, he was dead. Now he was dead and she had killed him and just how was she supposed to feel about that, exactly? Was she supposed to feel different? She didn't. She felt a bit stunned, but not different. Kate supposed that didn't matter. The relevant point was that they were safe now.

*Maybe.* Of course, it would be useful to know why that mage had attacked in the first place.

"By the Dread Wolf's great, hairy bollocks," a voice spoke into the quiet. "Ice first and ask questions later, aye Kate?"

Kate turned to find her friend, Colleen, standing by with a stunned expression. Coll's elven face had gone pale, making her tattoos stand out even more starkly than usual.

"Not that I'm complainin', mind," Coll added, still looking dumbfounded. "If you hadn't done that, we'd be dead. And what's more, our books would be burned."

And that would be Coll, Kate thought, always with her priorities in order. But Coll was right. They had been sitting out here just moments ago, reading in the sunshine on a warm summer's day. Kate had decided to ignore the freckles she was bound to accumulate in doing so. After all, it was rare that the small island enjoyed such fair weather. Connected to the Storm Coast by a thin, ancient bridge of Tevinter origin, the Ostwick Circle fortress was most often pounded by rain or shrouded in fog. Kate didn't mind. In fact, she adored murky, mysterious days. She could wander the Circle grounds for hours, pretending that she wasn't a prisoner cut off from the mainland. But Coll could never be persuaded to set foot outside of the library unless the sun was shining and the wind was still.

So it had been a rare thing that the both of them were outside for the afternoon. And it was a completely unexpected that, out of nowhere, someone had run up to them, shooting fire from his fingertips. Of course, flames weren't the only thing he had in his hands.

"Blood magic," Kate said, crouching by the body. She gingerly took the dead man's wrist between her thumb and forefinger and turned it over so that Coll could see the bloody knife clutched in his grip. Sure enough, his other arm was crisscrossed with cuts both fresh and scabbed over.

"That's one of the Ansburg lot," Coll said. Her dark brows snapped together at once. "Refugees my arse. We should have known they were up to something."

At that moment, the bells of the tower began to clang. Kate looked up in surprise, taking in the silhouette of the old castle. In all her years here, Kate had never heard the bells ring like that. They tolled to mark the hours, to signal events like Harrowings, to summon the residents to mealtimes. Kate had never heard them ring wildly, as if someone was yanking on all the ropes at once.

Coll scowled at the tower, her expression grim. "What, are we under attack now? Sure, the refugees must have gone mad."

"They can't all be blood mages," Kate said, frowning.

"Can't they now?" Coll returned. "'Cause if they are..."

If they were, then Ostwick was in very big trouble. Kate took a step toward the tower, but Coll grabbed her arm.

"Are yeh daft, Kate?" the elf asked her. "If we're under attack, we should run t'other way."

"What, off the cliffs and into the sea?" Kate wanted to know. "Not everyone in the tower can fight, Coll. Not everyone can run, either."

Maker knew, Kate didn't mean to defend the Circle out of any great love for the place. It was just that there was nothing else to be done - and there might not be anyone else to do it. As mages, she and Coll had no other option but to stand their ground. They simply had nowhere else to go.

Coll's brows drew together for a moment as she considered Kate's words, then she threw up her hands in frustration.

"Augh!" she scowled. "At least let me get the books."

"Leave the books," Kate told her. "We have bigger things to worry about." When Coll hesitated, Kate added, "Like the entire *library* burning."

"Good point," Coll said, took off at a run.

Kate couldn't go very fast with her robes twisting and tangling about her legs, however. She nearly fell on her face twice in her race across the lawn. With a scowl of frustration, she grabbed the hem and hiked it to her knees. She was again reminded that long skirts and slippers were useless in an emergency. At that though, a memory popped into Kate's mind:

On a summer's day similar to this one, Kate had taken off running across wide fields. But then, Kate had been running *from* the Circle, rather than toward it. And on that day, her cousin, Robert, had provided her with proper clothing. As he had wisely observed, she couldn't run very well in a dress. Of course, the rest of Robert's plans hadn't worked out so well. Robert had learned his tracking skills from his father, and Uncle Edwin spotted their trail easily enough. The would-be apostates had been run to ground by nightfall. The morning after their attempted escape, Kate found herself in a coach bound for the Ostwick Circle and Robert... Well, Robert was Robert. He had landed on his feet well enough.

Kate was drawn from these thoughts by the sudden quiet. The bells stopped ringing. The silence was more alarming than the alarm had been. Kate slowed her steps as she approached the low walls of the castle gardens. She carefully crept through the pumpkin patch and poked her head cautiously around the high tangle of blackcurrant bushes. Then, she stopped short.

"Oh, Maker," she breathed.

With reverent steps, Kate entered the garden. Two bodies lay among the tomato plants, half a barrel's worth of work between them. Another body lay crumpled in the open doorway that led to the kitchens.

"Mythal save us," Coll muttered.

Kate approached the two bodies in the dirt, Coll right behind her.

"Dead," Coll said at once. Kate nodded grimly. Coll had a better sense for these things than anyone else in the tower.

"Tranquil mages," Kate murmured, recognizing the remains of the robes, even if the faces were too scorched to identify. She swallowed back against a wave of nausea and turned her head away. "They probably didn't even fight back."

"Of course they didn't," Coll said, bitterly. "I'm guessing the blood mage you killed did this."

"Probably," Kate said.

"That one's alive, though," Coll said, pointing at the body in the doorway.

Kate hesitated a moment. *That* body wore armor - templar armor.

Kate shook herself and strode forward across the garden. It shouldn't matter if that survivor was one of the jailers, Kate told herself. The templar needed help, and Kate and Coll could offer it. She forced her legs to kneel at the templar's side and forced her hands to reach for the templar's helmet.

That was as far as Kate got, though, for she couldn't get the helmet loose. Wasn't it supposed to have some sort of catch or something? She had no idea how armor worked, much less how to remove it.

"Give over," Coll said, crouching down and brushing Kate's hands aside. The elf found some latch that Kate had not known to look for, and the helmet came free. Coll gently pulled it from the templar's head, then both she and Kate blinked in mild surprise.

"I'll be," Coll muttered, tucking a braid behind her ear. "*Dar asha*. She's a she."

And so she was. A thick mass of brown hair unfurled like water and the still face was decidedly feminine in features.

"Fine thing, ain't she?" Coll murmured softly.

"I don't recognize her," Kate said. Of course, that was to be expected. The templars wore helmets most of the time, and rarely spoke to their charges.

"No serious burns," Coll said. "Just a nasty bump to the head."

"Can you heal her?" Kate asked.

"That I can," Coll replied, her usual swagger reasserting itself. She rubbed her palms together, then flicked out her fingers. The movement sparked a blue-green glow in her hands. Coll gently placed them on either side of the templar's face.

"Give me a moment," she said. "She'll come round soon."

Kate nodded absently, her mind was already on another concern. "How many refugees were there?" she asked, looking though the doorway into the empty kitchens. "Ten? Fifteen?"

"Sure it don't matter with their sort," Coll replied, adjusting the angle of her hands so that they cradled the Templar's neck. "One's as bad as a mob."

"I don't hear fighting," Kate murmured. "But the Veil is growing thin."

Coll looked up sharply at that, and the two of them exchanged a worried glance. Changes in the barrier between this world and the Fade were never good.

At that same moment, the templar gave a soft moan. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head to one side.

"What...?" she murmured.

"Sure, that's our question for you," Coll said. "What happened here?"

"Blood mage!" the woman cried, her eyes flying wide as she remembered. "A blood mage came running down the hall, headed for the gardens..." She tried to sit up, and winced.

"Here now," Coll said, placing a glowing hand on the woman's breastplate. "Give yerself a moment."

"But the blood mage..."

"I killed him," Kate said, quickly. The templar looked at Kate, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Well done, Lady Trevelyan."

Kate started at that. "You know my name?"

"'Course they know our names," Coll said, finishing her healing and letting the spell flicker out. "Got papers on every one of us, I don't doubt."

The templar did not deny it. Instead, she gingerly sat up, stretching out her arms to make sure everything was in working order. Kate glanced nervously into the kitchens again, then back to the templar.

"Look, miss...er, ser..." Kate faltered there.

"Lysette," the woman replied, the hint of an Orlesian accent lacing her words. "Ser Lysette."

"Ser Lysette," Kate repeated. Judging from the woman's title and the charred insignia on her armor, Kate gathered that this was one of the lower ranking templars. That was also to be expected. The lower ranks were all that remained at Ostwick.

Two months ago, many of the templars had left Ostwick. It wasn't quite clear why they had done so. The templars weren't exactly in the habit of consulting with the mages about troop movements, after all. But Kate had heard rumors. It seemed that a summons had been sent for the senior officers - not from Divine Justinia, but from some other seat of authority in the Chantry hierarchy. The templars had been called to hunt down apostates from rebel Circles - and there were a lot of rebel Circles out there, if rumors were true.

Of course, rumors were all the Ostwick mages had to go on these days. Cut off from the world as they were, it was difficult to tell what was happening out there. Then again, Kate thought, it was difficult to tell what was happening on the other end of the castle.

"What happened, Ser Lysette?" Kate asked the templar. "Why were you attacked?"

"No idea," the woman replied. "I heard the bells ringing..." she cocked her head. "They've stopped."

"So you know as much as we do," Coll said, sitting back on her heels. "Wonderful."

"Then we need to get to the bell tower," Kate said, standing. "Find out why the alarm sounded." The bell tower was by the main gate, on the other end of the fortress. Kate didn't much like the idea of wandering around without knowing what they would face, but she didn't see any other option.

"I'm coming with you," Ser Lysette announced.

Coll frowned at that. "Oh. Well that's grand now, isn't it?" She gave Kate a pointed look, but Kate just shrugged.

"This is my home, too," Lysette said, pushing herself up onto her feet. "I swore to defend it." With that, she reached down and collected her sword and shield.

Kate considered that. Kate had never thought to fight alongside a templar. But Lysette was right. The Circle was home to the templars as well as the mages. That made this Ser Lysette an ally at present.

What a peculiar thought.

"Let's go, then," Kate said, heading into the castle. She heard the clank of Lysette's armor behind her, and then a mutter of "Aw, bollocks," from Coll. "We don't even have our staffs with us."

"Seems to me you don't need them," Lysette replied, practically.

The three of them made their way through the empty kitchens, then stepped out into the hallway. Kate saw no one there, and she heard nothing either, but when she reached out for the Fade...

"That way," she said, pointing.

"The Great Hall?" Coll asked.

"Right by the bell tower," Lysette observed.

"Something's going on up there," Kate said. "Let's be careful."

"Shields up?" Coll suggested.

Kate nodded. And while Lysette held up an actual shield, Coll flicked her hand out. A sheen of blue-green light flickered over all three of them, settling on their skin like water. Kate didn't even blink at the touch of Coll's magic, but Lysette sucked in a breath in surprise.

"Maker's tears!" she gasped.

"What?" Kate asked.

"I...nothing," the woman muttered. She paused a moment, then said, "I'm just not used to magic."

"And yet, yeh live in a *mage* tower," Coll said, sarcastically. Lysette blushed a bit.

"Well, yes," she hedged, "but I'm not used to... Never mind."

They had scarcely reached the end of the corridor, when a clanking sound echoed down the hall. A templar rounded the corner then, running as fast as his armor would allow. He wore no helmet, and his eyes were wide with fear. Kate shrank back at the sight. But Lysette strode forward in concern, her shield and sword drooping by her sides.

"What's going on up there?" Lysette demanded of the templar. "Are the mages...?"

But she got no further than that. The templar snapped his shield up, his eyes suddenly murderous.

"Lysette!" Coll cried, but the woman had no time to react. The templar barreled into her at full speed, bashing her against the wall. The sword was knocked from Lysette's grip, her head was smashed against the stones.

Coll yelled with a "Waaaugh!" and Kate gasped as if she had been the one knocked off of her feet. Lysette fell limp, too dazed to move. The templar raised his sword over his head, and Kate didn't even think.

Magic shot from her fingers, encasing the man in a thick sheet of ice. Lysette stared up in horror. The other templar's sword now hung frozen, just inches above her face.

"Maker's breath," she choked out. She shuffled back, then climbed out from under the shadow of her attacker. "Why did he do that?"

"'Cause he's a feckin' loony," Coll replied. "Who cares? Point is, I just got done healin' that head of yours. Don't go breakin' it again right off."

"It's a good thing Coll put a barrier on you," Kate added.

Lysette frowned. "But why did he attack?" Lysette wanted to know. She stopped there, her eyes narrowing as she considered the man inside the ice. "Wait. This man..."

"Isn't one of the Ostwick templars," Kate finished for her. "That armor isn't like yours."

"No, it's not," Lysette said. "Who *is* he? Is he enthralled?"

"Oh, sure," Coll rolled her eyes. "'Cause the only reason templars go 'round the bend is if blood mages make them do it."

"No trace of magic on him," Kate said, solemnly.

"Right, then he's a fecker of his own free will," Coll said. "So lesson learned, aye? Next time, keep your shield up and keep that pretty head of yours on your shoulders."

Lysette flushed at Coll's words, though whether from embarrassment or irritation, Kate couldn't tell. Kate reached out a hand to calm both the elf and the knight.

"It's okay," she said. "We're still alive. And now we know that both mages *and* templars are attacking the Circle."

"Not *our* mages," Coll said, petulantly.

"Not our templars either," Lysette replied, defensively.

"Then let's find out what's going on," Kate said, taking a step forward.

"What about this maggot?" Coll asked, pointing at the still frozen templar.

"Oh," Kate said, frowning. Her ice spell would hold for a while, but not indefinitely. But before she could answer, Lysette stepped forward.

"We kill him," Lysette said, coldly.

"Sounds good to me," Coll nodded.

And before Kate could say anything - before she could even she could decide if mercy or caution was the better course, Lysette struck the templar down. There was a shattering sound, like glass breaking, though it turned to a juicy squelch at the end. Kate turned her face away, but Coll looked on in grim satisfaction.

"Well now," Coll said, eyebrows raised. "That was a hell of a thwack. Good on you, templar."

"Thank you," Lysette said, slanting her a glance. "I think."

Kate kept her eyes averted from the body. In a way, this was her second kill of the day. Even though she hadn't landed the final blow, Kate felt like this death had changed something.

"You alright, Lady Trevelyan?" Lysette asked, noting her silence.

"Fine," Kate lied. She shook away the unclean feeling that had settled over her and nodded down the hall.

"Come on," she said. "It's beginning to look like we're under attack from the outside."

"Looks like it," Lysette agreed.

"So," Coll said, rubbing her tattooed hands together. "Blood mages *and* crazy templars? This day just keeps getting better and better."

Kate led the way down the hall, calling back over her shoulder:

"Then let's make sure they get a proper welcome from the Ostwick Circle, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3 - Ice and Blood

Kate had no idea how *she* had become the leader of their little band of three. But as they passed empty classrooms and quiet halls, Lysette and Colleen steadfastly remained one step behind her. Kate wasn't sure if this was because they trusted her to guide them safely to the great hall, or if they simply wanted Kate to be the first into danger.

Just then, Kate stopped short. *Speaking of danger.*

Two bodies lay in a open doorway, blackened beyond recognition. Kate sucked in a breath. "Oh Maker," she muttered.

"Falon'Din guide them," Coll said, coming to stop right behind Kate. Lysette said nothing, but her brows drew together as if in pain and Kate saw tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Somehow, Lysette's quiet sorrow made it all seem that much worse.

"Can't do much for the dead," Coll said. "But the living..."

"You're right," Kate nodded. "We need to..." But then she broke off, for something tugged at her senses.

"The Fade," Kate said without thinking. "It's rippling somehow."

Lysette turned to stare at her. "You can *feel* it?"

Coll rolled her eyes. "Kate, remember how you're *just* an ice mage?"

"Uh..." Kate said.

"Lead on, *ice mage*," Coll said, smacking her on the back.

Kate took one last look at the bodies, then pressed on. Lysette and Coll fell in line behind her. Kate led them around a corner, and then down the long, wide corridor that led to the great hall. Lysette was remarkably quiet in her heavy armor, Kate noticed. As the approached the great, arched doorway, they slowed their steps. Kate pressed herself against the wall, staying out of sight as best she could. A sickly reddish light glowed from within the great hall and the air grew warm around them.

"Stop this madness!" Kate heard a familiar female voice cry. "Think on what you're doing!"

"What I'm doing?" Kate heard another female voice shout back. "I'm trying to set this *right*."

*Set what right?* Kate wondered. Though Coll and Lysette hung back, Kate carefully crept to the doorway and peeked in.

The great hall looked like every cautionary tale Kate had ever heard about blood rituals. Blood pooled on the stones, blood swirled through the air in whirlpools of red. The smell of iron and lyrium filled the hall and the Fade felt so stained and thin that Kate nearly gagged.

The hall was filled with people, too, some lying in pools of blood, some standing in dirty, gore-stained robes, some wearing blackened armor. It took a moment for Kate to make sense of it all, to realize that there was something of an order to the mob.

To the left were most of the mages: the fellows of Ostwick, and the majority the Ansburg refugees as well. To her horror, Kate realized that several children stood in that group, clutching the skirts of their older brethren and staring at the carnage with wide eyes. Thankfully, Senior Enchanter Lydia stood in the center of this group, holding up one of her famed barrier spells. The mages with her were protected under a great, shimmering dome of magic.

At the other end of the hall stood a crowd of templars. Most wore the Ostwick armor, but several of them were dressed like the man who had attacked Lysette back in the corridor. At first Kate thought the templars were allied against the mages, but a second glance revealed the standoff for what it really was: The armored figures all writhed in postures of pain, their arms bent at odd angles, their heads twisted too far. One of them whimpered. From another helmet came a choking sound. One of the bare-headed soldiers stared ahead with blank eyes, her tongue lolling from her mouth.

All of these soldiers were trapped, Kate realized, caught in some binding spell spun of agony or horror or both.

And in the center of the hall stood the blood mages. They were easy to recognize from knives in their hands the blood staining their robes. There were only seven of them, Kate thought, quickly counting - well, seven and three templars. It was hard to tell if those templars were free agents, or simply thralls. Kate was betting on the latter. Five of the blood mages seemed to be Ansburg refugees, but the last two were clearly from the Ostwick Circle.

*Traitors,* Kate thought furiously.

The blood mages appeared to be led by a skinny woman in torn Ansburg-style robes. Her face was pockmarked and her snow-white hair hung lank about her shoulders. Her hands were bloodied up to the elbow, and her eyes were wild. Before her lay a pile of dirty cloth. It took Kate a moment to realize that there was a body in there. It took her a moment more to recognize the dead, drained face as that of Ostwick's First Enchanter.

Kate felt as if she was going to be sick.

As Kate watched, the white-haired blood mage took a step forward, pointing her finger at Lydia accusingly.

"I am trying to save us," the woman said. "But *you* would condemn us to death."

"Death?" Lydia cried. "We tried to help you! We took you in, fed you..."

"And your First Enchanter was ready to throw us out the moment these bastards came to collect us!" the blood mage screamed.

"He was not!" some Ostwick mage shouted, "He was trying to calm them down. And then you *killed* him."

Well, Kate thought. That *did* explain this mess. It also explained why both a blood mage and a templar had been running amok in the halls. Clearly these blood mages had thought to defend themselves and the renegade templars had taken issue with that.

Kate glanced at the body of the First Enchanter, feeling sorrow settle within her. The First Enchanter was - had been - a good man, but he had no heart for conflict of any kind. When the other Circles had declared independence, the First Enchanter had condemned the rebellion. The mages of Ostwick were not traitors to the Chantry, he'd insisted. Then he had closed the doors and refused to listen to news from the outside world. It had taken a lot of arguing to convince him to allow the Ansburg refugees to stay.

Kate and some of the others had objected to his stance on the war. The mages of Ostwick ought to do *something* to stop the fighting, they had argued. At the very least, they should send word to Val Royeaux and ask the Chantry for guidance. Then a letter had arrived from the Grand Cathedral, announcing that Divine Justinia was holding peace talks in Ferelden. Ostwick was urged to come and help negotiate an end to mage-templar hostilities. Kate had volunteered at once. Surely this was their opportunity to stop this madness, she argued. But the First Enchanter would not be moved. Why should Ostwick risk its mages on a long journey south, he had asked? Ostwick had caused no trouble. Ostwick had nothing to prove. Best to stay here, safe in the fortress walls, and let the world tear itself apart.

It had been wishful thinking, Kate thought sadly. The First Enchanter had paid the price for it. Maker help them, they might all pay for his mistake now.

"At least let the Ostwick templars go," Kate heard Senior Enchanter Lydia shout. "Our guardians have nothing to do with these mercenaries. They seek only to protect the mages of this Circle."

This seemed to both amuse and enrage the blood mage.

"They're *templars*," she hissed, spit flying from her lips and catching in her white hair. "They despise us all. They will never see us as anything but potential apostates."

"Not like she's givin' a good argument to the contrary," Kate heard Coll mutter.

*Too true*, Kate thought. And standing here listening to this woman's ranting was getting them no where. Though this appeared to be a momentary ceasefire, she didn't doubt that the blood mages would start up the battle again as soon as they saw an opening.

Kate's eyes darted back and forth across the room as she tried to come up with a plan. Lydia had the mages protected - for now - but the Ostwick templars were in trouble. Kate needed to get them free of that spell without getting anyone killed in the process. A few plans formed in her mind, but most were risky and complicated. And those blood mages had a *lot* of power at their command, Kate thought. The blood clouds swirled through the high rafters like crimson banners, reminding her just how much force she was dealing with in there.

Kate drew back from the doorway. She turned to find Coll and Lysette staring a her expectantly.

"So, what do we do?" Coll said, so quietly that she was mostly mouthing the words.

"Give me a minute," Kate replied.

"Don't you have a plan?" Lysette whispered, frowning.

"Seems she doesn't," Coll whispered back.

"Give me a *minute*," Kate hissed. She found her hands were shaking and she pressed them together to stop them. From inside the hall, the sounds of the argument between Lydia and the blood mage were growing louder.

"How can you bow to these murderers?!" the blood mage was shrieking. "You are *gods* on this earth, and yet you allow *ants* to rule you. You should be embracing your powers...!"

"Forget plans," Coll whispered. "Let's just attack."

"If you rush in there," Lysette whispered back, "a lot of people will die."

"Sure a lot of people already died," Coll hissed back. She turned her eyes to Kate. "And those templars are about to die. I can feel them fading. They haven't got much longer, Kate. We have to move *now.*"

"Some of those templars might be enemies," Lysette reminded them.

"But we have to free *our* templars," Kate said. She never thought she would care to protect the Ostwick templars. But given the choice between the Ostwick guardians and a handful of unhinged blood mages, Kate found her loyalties were pretty clear. With that, she settled on a plan. She just prayed to the Maker that it would work.

"Coll," Kate whispered, turning to the elf, "I think it's time you stop pretending to be 'just a healer,' don't you?"

The elf's mouth quirked in a wry smile. "Sure," she replied. "After all, you already let slip that you can do more than just freeze things." Kate nodded her reply.

"What are you two on about?" Lysette hissed, looking from one of them to the other. "We need a plan."

"I have an idea," Kate said. And quickly as she could, she laid out her plan for the other two women.

In the hall beyond, the angry shouting rose in both volume and crazy: "We should be *ruling* Thedas!" the woman shouted. "As in the Tevinter Imperium, we must take our place as rulers, as magisters..."

And then, quite suddenly, Colleen was standing on the top stair of the great hall, her dark braids flying everywhere.

"Oh, so you're a Magister now, are yeh?" the elf shouted. "Well that's just great. 'Cause you know that we elves just *love* to kill Vints."

As every eye in the room shot to Coll, the elf raised both hands. The blood mages gathered magic, ready to cast at her, but then there was a great crack. Roots came shooting out of the stone floor and a massive web of branches blocked Coll from view. As the blood mages frantically fired spells at the brambles, Kate and Lysette dashed down the steps, blocked from the hostile magic by the cover of Coll's great thorny wall.

"Never mess with a hedge mage, right?" Kate called out as she ran past. From inside the roots, she heard Coll laugh.

"That's an awful pun," the elf called back. "I'd slap you for it, but I'm busy."

Suddenly, the roots were sucked back into the floor, and Coll was nowhere to be seen. The blood mages stared in surprise, too startled to fully register that Kate and Lysette were now rushing into the room where the thorns used to be. Then, right behind the blood mages, a tangle of roots shot up again. The brambles unfurled, revealing Coll in the center of them, like some sort of bizarre, tattooed bird borne of a great wooden egg.

"Fenhedis, yeh blood mage feckers!" she shouted.

Coll snapped her hands together, and one of the blood mages found herself trapped in a wooden egg of her own. Only this tangle of roots bore down on her, crushing her with a great crack. As two other blood mages gaped and two more gathered spells to their finger tips, Lysette came running in. She went straight for the nearest blood mage and gutted him from behind. She then shoved her boot against his back, ripping her sword free from his body. The blood mage collapsed to the floor.

And then - well, *then*, the room seemed to explode.

Fire and lightning split the air, merging in a blast. It looked for a moment like the spark of flint to tinder, but on the scale of the entire castle hall. The sound was deafening. One of the templar thralls went flying overhead with a scream, slammed against a high wall, and fell heavily to the floor. Kate saw another of the thralls run up to a mage who stood outside of Lydia's barrier spell. The poor woman raised her hands, but too late. Kate looked away as the sword fell, just in time to see another mage hanging in mid-air, choking as if trapped in an invisible vise.

All that happened in just a few moments, but Kate forced herself to block it out. She concentrated on where she needed to be - right there, across the room, in front of the trapped templars. She gathered power to herself.

And then Kate stepped into the Fade.

Well, of course she didn't *really* step into the Fade. Physically passing through the Veil was impossible. But using the Fade as a bow and herself as an arrow, Kate shot forward. It was a new spell, one she had only tried a few times before, but thank the Maker, it worked. Kate blurred forward the length of the room and landed...

Well, being new at this spell, she missed the templars entirely. She ended up slamming right into the wall *behind* them, but thankfully, she didn't hurt herself. Kate turned to the templars, noting that the blood mages were distracted by the battle raging in the room. As for the templars, they didn't not even look at her, but gazed ahead like wretched statues.

Kate closed her eyes and reached out with her mind - or heart - or whatever it was inside of her that felt through to the world of the Fade. She sensed the binding spell and tried to grab hold of it. But instead of loosening it, Kate hissed out a curse and drew her hands back to her chest. That binding spell was vicious, like a line of blades hidden just under water. And Kate had just stuck her hand into the pool without realizing how sharp that spell was. The binding had not budged. And Kate had felt *things* roiling on the other side of the Veil, like sharks in the water.

What was more, Kate had now attracted the notice of the blood mages. A traitorous Ostwick mage whirled in her direction. Kate backed away, but right behind her, one of the mercenary templars began to move. She creaked and groaned as if emerging from a casing of stone. Then the bare-headed woman dropped forward a bit, caught herself on one knee. When she looked up at Kate, her eyes narrowed in rage.

"You," she hissed, glaring at Kate. "You tried to *kill* us!"

"I didn't!" Kate cried, holding her hands up in protest. "I'm trying to help!"

But she didn't get much further than that. The templar charged. Kate shouted in alarm and shot herself through the fade once more, blindly rushing away. When she came to a stop, she stood beside another mage. The man turned to her in surprise, casting a barrier spell over himself. Kate did the same. And then they both paused.

"Kate?" the man gasped.

Kate gave a terse nod of recognition. She knew this mage, and he didn't have blood on his hands. With that, she turned to deal with the battle that she had failed to stop.

It was chaos. Lydia's barrier spell still held, but the rest of the room was a mess. More of the templars were slowly pulling free of the binding, and not all of them were fighting the blood mages. Two turned on one another and began fighting. A third tried to attack an Ostwick mage and got blasted for his efforts.

*Oh Maker*, Kate thought, swallowing. She had hoped to free the Ostwick templars and get their help against the blood mages. But that hadn't worked. And if this dragged on much longer, there wouldn't be anyone left standing.

Before Kate could think of another plan, a templar came running at her from the right. Kate screamed and tried to back away, but instead tripped over the hem of her own skirt. She fell to the ground, the templar's blade whistling within an inch of her head. As she fell, Kate shot out an ice spell, but it missed the templar entirely. Kate scrambled back across the floor like a crab, legs caught in her skirts. Before she could gather enough magic to cast again, the templar rounded on her, sword in the air.

And then a mass of metal attacked him from the left. Lysette slammed into the man, knocking him back with her shield, her sword at the ready.

"Kate's a friend," Lysette shouted at the man. "Stand *down*."

But the templar just roared with rage and launched himself back at Lysette. Kate tossed a barrier spell over Lysette, but at the same time, a dark smudge came out of nowhere, narrowly missing Lysette's head and smacking the other templar full in the face. The man instantly dropped his sword and started clawing at his eyes. His screams rent the air and he went running in the other direction. Kate glanced over her shoulder to see Coll give a satisfied grin. The elf hiked her chin in the air, then rode off in a rolling mass of roots.

Lysette held out a hand, and Kate took it. The templar hauled Kate to her slippered feet, and Kate untangled her legs from her skirts. Robes were a foolish fashion choice in a fight, Kate thought. If she lived through this, she was never wearing a dress again.

"They'll tear each other apart!" Lysette cried to Kate, just as another voice shouted from across the room.

"Templars, stop! Cease your fighting."

Ser Ira, the remaining leader of the Ostwick templars, had somehow broken free of the binding spell. He now stood before Senior Enchanter Lydia, guarding her from the others, and likewise guarded by her spell. The sight of those two, standing together, so shocked the room that everyone turned to stare. The templars slowed their fighting. The white-haired blood mage also paused.

And for one moment - for one blessed moment - Kate thought they would listen. Lydia and Ira were Circle leaders. Now that they had the room's attention, surely everyone would do as they said. But then...

Kate tried to cry out a warning. The name "Lydia!" echoed from her lips into the room, but it was too late.

One moment, Lydia was standing there, a bastion to everyone around her. And then, the next moment, Lydia let out a bone-chilling scream. She clutched at her chest, as if trying to grab her heart. Ira turned to her at once, but was hurled backward, as if tossed by an invisible hand. Lydia fell face-first to the stones. The barrier spell disappeared as if it had never existed. The now-vulnerable mages all blinked at one another in shock.

Then, casually as one might pluck a flower, a young man - an apprentice whose name Kate could not remember - reached down and yanked a dagger out of Lydia's ribs. Kate felt her stomach churn and the entire room seemed to sway.

The apprentice stepped over Lydia's corpse without looking down. As he did so, a red cloud of blood rose up and followed him. Everyone standing nearby scurried back in alarm, eyes wide. The apprentice walked on, gathering flame to his hands, mixing it with the gore that swirled before his face. As the young man strode across the room, Kate could feel the Fade ebb and thin.

And then some *thing* slid through the whisper-thin Veil.

Lydia's young apprentice began to transform before Kate's very eyes. His skinny arms elongated, his small body swelled with what looked like large boils. His face shrank away in the mass of extra flesh, and Kate found herself looking at something no longer human.

*Abomination*, Kate thought. This was what happened when some demon came forth from the Fade and merged with a mortal host. Together, they transformed into something new, something *more*, something powerful and hungry. The creature raised its hands, advancing on the templars.

*Templars and mages and now an abomination,* Kate thought, wildly. And there were more things waiting on the other side of the Veil. Kate could feel them, pressing at the barrier, looking for any opportunity to slide across. Just a little more blood on the stones, Kate thought, and the demons would start pouring in. If they didn't stop this soon, they were all going to end up dead like Lydia.

Lydia...

Kate's eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where the woman's body lay. And in that moment, Kate remembered something that Lydia had once told her:

*"Magic is not the problem," Lydia had once said. "Even blood magic is not the problem. The problem is resisting our own nature. So long as we rage against the Maker's gifts, we will continue to misuse them. We mages must make peace with our magic."*

*"What does that even mean, 'to make peace'?" Kate had asked in return, exasperated by her mentor's words. They too closely echoed the words her mother had told her a lifetime ago.*

*"Everyone talks about peace like it's a cake," Kate had said, rolling her eyes. "They act like peace has a simple recipe. But you can't just stir in a few ingredients and put peace in the oven to bake. It's not that easy."*

*Lydia had laughed. "Maybe not. But even if it is difficult, we must try. And we must start with ourselves. How can we ever hope to end the wars around us if we have wars raging inside?"*

Lydia's lesson hadn't meant much to Kate at the time. But now, as she saw a battle raging around her, Kate saw one thing quite clearly: Fighting only led to more fighting. If Kate was to make peace out of this chaos, she would have to *stop* the fighting long enough for everyone to calm down and think. She had to freeze this chaos in its tracks. And in order to manage *that*...

*Blood,* Kate thought. Blood was how this began, and blood was how this would end.

With that, Kate turned to the templars. As the abomination reached the center of the room, Kate shot forward with a Fade-step again, landing just before the creature.

"Kate!" she heard Colleen cry. The abomination turned to her with a roar. It raised its long, improbably-proportioned arms over its head, but Kate stood her ground.

In that moment, Kate reached for the Fade - the pure, unsullied part of it - and let it fill her. Kate felt at once as if she'd drunk water from a glacial stream. It made her teeth ache. The Fade *hurt* going in, but Kate forced herself to ignore that. She pushed her senses outward into the Fade, noting the places where blood had stained the magic of the Veil.

*There and there,* Kate thought, marking the spots in her mind. *There*: blood on a mage's hands. *There*: the scarred wrist of the woman with the white hair. *There*: the still heart of the First Enchanter. *There*: Lydia's blood, still oozing onto the floor. And there, right before her, came the abomination.

All this took an instant. Kate heard the abomination growling, smelled the stink of its breath - all rotting meat and sulfur. She saw it slide toward her through the pool of the First Enchanter's blood.

Kate flung her hands up into the air. The Fade pushed through her, sharp and cold. It flashed out from her body in fractals.

And the room froze.

Ice flickered out across the stones. The swirling blood in the air suddenly stopped, then fell to the ground as soft, crimson snow. A silver sheen covered every surface and the mages and templars all blinked at one another through frosted lashes.

In the center of the room, seven blood mages stood frozen. Their bodies had exploded from the inside out, their veins ruptured as their blood had turned to ice. Only the abomination, half living and half fade-creature, had withstood this onslaught. The thing was slowed, but it still advanced. It slammed Kate to the ground with one massive, clawed hand. She fell to the floor, gasping.

But before the creature could strike her again, the others leaped into action. Lysette and Coll ran toward the creature. Coll summoned roots to hold it and Lysette sliced into the mass of it with her sword. The abomination roared and then several more mages and templars joined the fight. A lightning spell shocked the thing, another sword sliced into it and then a blast of fire burned the corpse to ash. A scorch mark was all that was left on the floor. The mages and templars stood there, staring at one another in stunned silence.

And then, very slowly, every eye in the room turned to stare at Kate. She blinked up at them, and slowly rose to her knees, but found she could rise no further. That spell had been brutal, taking every ounce of her power. Kate felt like the Fade had scoured her insides as it had rushed through her.

A heavily armored hand fell on Kate's shoulder, and she looked up in a daze to find the now-familiar face of Ser Lysette gazing down at her.

"You did it," Ser Lysette said, gravely. "You saved them. All of them." She nodded somewhere over Kate's head, no doubt at her templar brethren. Kate found her vision was going blurry.

Coll dropped to her knees before Kate, making Kate's head hurt with her loud whoop of triumph.

"Mythal bless your arse!" the elf cried. "Feckin battlemage, are you now, Kate? How in the Void did you do that?"

"Used the Fade to track the tainted blood..." Kate murmured. "Froze it..." But she couldn't manage more of an explanation than that before she swayed and nearly fell over.

"Here now," Coll said, placing one hand on Kate's forehead. "How many times has your old friend Coll warned you? Don't be an eejit and go playin' around with the Fade?"

"You've said it... A time or two," Kate admitted.

All around Kate, she could see people moving, but watching them made her head hurt. She sighed and closed her eyes, but then she heard a mercenary say:

"Secure the Ansburg refugees."

"Too risky," another said. "We should kill all of them."

"What?" Kate gasped. Coll shouted, "No!" And all around the room, alarmed cries met this statement and hands filled with flame and lightning.

"No," Kate slurred, stumbling to her feet. She ignored the way exhaustion tried to drag her down. "We are done with fighting."

"The mages are under our protection," Kate heard Ser Ira say. "And you have no authority here."

"No killing," Kate said, shaking her head as she stumbled forward a step. "No more fighting. The Fade..." But the room was starting to pitch now.

"Lady Trevelyan is right," Lysette said. "We must stop fighting."

*That* seemed to startled the renegade templars more than anything else.

"Lady *Trevelyan*?" one of the others repeated, nervously.

"She's a Trevelyan?" someone else whispered.

"As in, related to Bann Trevelyan?" yet another voice asked.

"This is his youngest daughter," Lysette said, placing a gauntleted hand on Kate's shoulder. Kate staggered under the weight of it. "Her family has connections to every city in the Free Marches, and half the Chantries in Thedas."

"I didn't realize..." a templar voice muttered.

Well, Kate thought, too tired to roll her eyes. It seemed there was something to be gained from her family connections after all. In the Circle, titles and birth meant absolutely nothing. A noblewoman like Kate could be best friends with an ex-Dalish like Coll and no one would think twice. But Kate had to remember that the templars were another matter entirely. For them, the whole world was nothing but rules and rank, duty and deference. And if her family's name held sway with them, well then, Kate thought, by the Maker, she'd use it. She'd use her connections to protect the mages, just like she'd used her magic a moment ago.

With that thought, Kate glanced over at one of the dead blood mages. For the first time, she took in the full effect of what her magic had wrought. What had been a face was now a grotesque mask of ice and ruptured flesh. She hadn't just killed those mages. She had utterly destroyed them. Kate felt bile rise in her throat.

"Lady Trevelyan?" Lysette asked, peering at Kate. "Are you alright?"

Kate meant to say, yes, she was fine. Kate meant to say that she planned to write to her family at once, securing House Trevelyan's public support for the Ostwick Circle. She meant to suggest sending a delegation to the Conclave after all, regardless of Ostwick's neutral stance in the war. And she meant to volunteer herself as one of the delegates.

Instead, Kate dropped to her knees and vomited. And then she fainted dead away.


	4. Chapter 4 - Haven

_Cullen chapter - yay! _

_I considered a dozen ideas of how to introduce the male lead of this story (I mean, seriously, just how much backstory could a guy have?). I finally decided just to let Cullen begin where he is at the start of the game - or a little before, actually: he's being commanderly. Which is hot._

_Also, I decided to give him an inner circle - kind of his own posse of officers, if you well. I drew together a crowd of NPCs that you *may* recognized and decided to add some more personality there. So, yeah. Hope you enjoy this._

_This is officially now a Cullen/Quizzy fic! w00t! Romantic tension incoming... in a few chapters. (wait for it...)_

_-sage_

* * *

"We just received word from the Ostwick Circle. It seems they'll be sending someone to the Conclave after all."

Commander Cullen Rutherford looked up in surprise at this bit of news. "I thought they had refused to come," he said, frowning.

Cullen turned his attention to the table before him. A list of all the delegates lay upon it, as well as a large map of Haven. The map was all marked with ink and pins and various notes about the patrol schedules. This single table served as Cullen's base of operations, and the location for his morning meetings with his ranking officers. Shoved into the north alcove of the Chantry, the table was a very poor meeting place indeed.

Still, Cullen had made the best of it. He had bigger challenges to worry about than securing himself a satisfactory desk or even an office. His mission was to fortify the Temple of Sacred Ashes in preparation for the upcoming peace talks. It was not an easy task. These mountains gave new meaning to the word 'uncharted.' And it certainly didn't help matters when delegates cropped up at the last minute.

Beside the table, Ser Rylen, Cullen's second-in-command, just shrugged apologetically. "Aye, sir," he said. "Ostwick was neutral. But it seems some rebel templars showed up at their door. Or was it blood mages? Either way, it changed their minds for them, so to speak."

"Ah," Cullen said. The muscles of his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "Well then."

*That* was a story he had heard often enough in this past year. He and his ranking officers had lived that story, in fact. It was why they were standing here in the Haven Chantry, rather than in the Kirkwall Gallows.

"What do we know about the Ostwick delegation?" Cullen wanted to know.

"Not much," Rylen admitted. "Sister Nightengale gathered what information she could, but it's spotty at best. All she knows is that the mages held off their attackers with a *very* powerful spell."

"Not what I wanted to hear," Cullen muttered, glancing at the list of delegates. Dipping a quill into the inkpot, he added, 'OSTWICK,' in his bold scrawl.

"So they're sending mages, then?" Cullen said, about to make a note of it.

"Mages and templars, both," Rylen replied.

Cullen looked up in surprise. "What, really?" He made a note of it, then placed the quill back in the ink pot.

"Seems so," Rylen said. He handed Cullen the spymaster's brief and a folded letter. Cullen took these papers and read Leliana's note first. Her report said only that the Ostwick circle had been attacked and then closed its doors to the outside world. Cullen turned his attention to the letter from Ostwick. The seal was already broken, so Cullen unfolded the letter and read through it quickly.

"Ser Ira," Cullen read. "I don't know him. He's coming with a mage and a few retainers. A mage *and* a templar," he muttered to himself. "That's odd."

Odd, but not unwelcome, he added, silently. To date, Cullen could not think of a single Circle that had sent both mages and templars together. Most other Circles had utterly dissolved into fighting between the two groups. And in many cases, only one group survived the resulting battle.

"Do you suspect trouble, sir?" At Rylen's side, Ser Ruvena looked up at Cullen from beneath the metal scout helmet she always wore. "Should we detain them?"

Cullen always suspected trouble, but in this case, he just shook his head.

"No need," he replied. "If Ostwick sends mages and templars together, they might be more reasonable than most. And if they're not, well, we have plenty of soldiers in place."

"Mercs, you mean," Rylen said, frowning.

"Just so," Cullen said. He, too, disliked the fact that only Tal-Vashoth mercenaries were being allowed in the temple proper, but he understood the Divine's reasons for it. She wanted the Conclave to present a neutral front, and the horned giants were definitely not from the Circles.

With that thought, Cullen skimmed through the letter from Ostwick once more. The missive began with a formal salutation to the Divine and excessive praise for the peace talks. These bits of prosy nonsense were followed by a short report of the violence at Ostwick. *That* was the only part that interested Cullen, and it obscured far more of the conflict than it described. The letter concluded with the not-so-subtle hint that the mage in the delegation was related to some Free Marcher nobleman.

Cullen folded the letter with a shake of his head. As if he cared for such name-dropping. Having lived most of his life in the Order, Cullen generally ignored the aristocracy and their posturing. In a Circle tower, all that mattered was one's ability to get the job done. For templars, that meant guarding the mages. For the mages... Well, Cullen thought darkly, that usually just meant staying sane.

Cullen handed the letter and note back to Rylen. "Make arrangements for them," he said.

"We're a bit full up, sir," Rylen put in, hesitantly. "The Divine wants everyone to have a place to pray before the talks begin, but there are only so many chapels..."

"As if the Maker cares where we sit our rears when we say our prayers," Cullen could not disguise his irritation. "If there aren't enough altars to go around, then build a few. Just stick a statue of Andraste a broom closet and don't tell anyone the difference."

Ruvena gave a laugh, then quickly bit back her smile. Rylen hesitated, evidently wondering if his commander was condoning blasphemy or not. But he said, "Yes sir," and nodded all the same.

"Anything else?" Cullen asked, looking to the other officers present. "Ruvena?"

The officer straightened at once. "The recruits are coming along in their training well enough, sir," she replied. "Not exceptional swordsmen, but they'll do."

Cullen nodded. "I'll stop by later today and check in on them."

"Very good, sir," she nodded.

"And you, Keran?" Cullen asked.

"The check points have been set up along the pilgrim's pass, sir," the young man replied. "Lady Cassandra has agreed to oversee the forward camp."

"Insisted, was more what it was," Ruvena put in. "Chancellor Roderick wasn't happy about it."

"That's no surprise," Rylen muttered.

"Anything else, Keran?" Cullen asked.

"Well, um, yes," the young man said, hesitantly. Cullen raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"I was going over some of the maps of the area, sir," Keran said, glancing at the papers in his hand, "and I'm a bit, um, concerned."

"Concerned how?" Cullen wanted to know.

"Well," Keran said, uncertainly, "We've cobbled together every map we could find to try and get a read on this place. But I keep thinking I saw a map that looked quite different from the ones we have here. And now I can't recall where I saw it." When Cullen frowned, Keran quickly added, "I know that's not very useful, sir. But I thought I ought to mention it all the same."

"Fair enough," Cullen said, "But I can't send our people to scout out the entire mountain range. Do you have any clearer idea where you think we ought to look?"

"It was a path," Keran said, slowly. "Or no. No, I think it might have been a cave?"

"We've sealed off dozens of mines and nug trails already," Ruvena pointed out. "The main road is the only real way in now."

"That only makes me worry more," Keran said, frowning. "When you have an obvious front door, there's almost always a secret way out the back." His gaze grew troubled as he glanced down at the map in his hands.

"Kirkwall was a warren," he added, quietly.

The others didn't say anything to this. Cullen didn't either. He knew - they all knew - that Keran had once spent almost a week lost in the the caverns below Kirkwall, trapped at the hands of blood mages. It made Cullen uncomfortable to think of that. After all, it reminded Cullen too much of the time when...

Well, this was not the time to worry about the past, he reminded himself. They had too much to worry about in the near future.

"Understood, Keran," Cullen said, crisply. "If you think we've overlooked a passage, it's worth scouting the mines again. Better yet, we can have Leliana's people take another run at it. They're better suited to sneaking through caverns than our recruits are." He glanced around at all of his officers and added:

"You've done good work getting this place secured. But we're far from finished. The delegates will be arriving any day now, and we must be prepared for whatever comes."

Three heads nodded at him in understanding. Three pairs of eyes reflected his determination to see this through.

And then, Cullen thought, then there was the fourth soldier.

Cullen cleared his throat. Though he knew he would regret it - he *always* regretted it - Cullen raised his voice and asked:

"Anything to report, Morris?"

The young man turned and blinked at Cullen with vacant blue eyes.

"Report?" Morris asked, as if this was a completely foreign concept, as if Cullen hadn't asked him this same question every morning of every day for the past five years. The other officers, Maker bless them, managed not to laugh. Instead, Rylen considered his boots and Keran studied his maps. Ruvena gazed up the ceiling as if the rafters had suddenly become fascinating.

For his part, Cullen took a breath for patience. Morris had his uses, but staying on point during meetings was *not* one of them.

"Anything to report, Morris?" Cullen asked again.

"Will there be apostates at the peace talks?" he asked.

The others glanced at one another in confusion. That was actually a relevant question, though it had a rather obvious answer.

"Well," Cullen said, patiently, "considering that the Circles have fallen, that means every mage is technically an apostate now."

"Oh," Morris said, frowning.

"So, yes," Cullen clarified. "There will be apostates at the Conclave. But remember, these apostates have trained in a Circle. There won't be hedge mages or shape shifters or anything unusual. Well," he amended, "There shouldn't be. But be prepared for anything, as always."

Cullen stopped there, wondering if he'd answered Morris' question. The young man considered this, nodding solemnly.

"Oh, good," he said. "I was nervous about dealing with apostates. They frighten me."

"Mages have terrible power," Keran conceded. "But not all of them are bad." Rylen nodded his agreement.

"Just remember," Ruvena said, patting Morris on the shoulder as though he were a child, "We've dealt with apostates before." She shot a quick glance to Cullen as she added, "We can handle whatever they throw at us."

Cullen wouldn't have put it quite that arrogantly, but he was pleased to see that his officers felt confident in their abilities. Morris just shook his head, slowly.

"*I've* never dealt with apostates before," he said.

"You have, though," Rylen replied. "You were there when the Gallows fell, just like the rest of us."

"And before that, you spoke with Hawke all the time," Ruvena added.

Morris' eyes went huge and his mouth dropped open.

"The Champion of Kirkwall was an *mage*?"

The others just stared at him.

"What, seriously?" Ruvena gaped. "How could you not know that?"

"But I once asked her for information on suspected apostates and she just laughed at me," Morris said, cocking his head to one side.

Cullen rolled his eyes heavenward. He could only imagine how that conversation must have gone. Hawke and her friends must have laughed themselves silly over that one.

"Right," Cullen said, returning to the subject at hand. "Mages. We'll be ready for them. And the templars, too. Many of the templars are still loyal to the Order, but we can't be sure which ones. Be on your guard around them, and make sure our recruits know not to trust anyone but our own forces."

Everyone nodded - everyone but Morris.

"But," he said, slowly, "Hawke wasn't *really* an mage, was she?"

"Maker's balls," Rylen groaned.

"Did you truly not know that Hawke was a mage?" Keran asked him.

"How could she have lived outside of the Gallows for all those years if she was a mage?" Morris wanted to know. "Wouldn't Knight-Commander Meredith have captured her?"

"A question for the ages," Cullen muttered dryly. "Alright, if that's everything..."

"But Hawke had black hair," Morris pointed out.

That brought Cullen up short.

"What has that got to do with anything?" he asked, before he could think better of it.

"I thought all mages were gingers," Morris said.

The officers just stood there, exchanging confused glances.

Too many mornings had ended this way, Cullen thought, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. But before he could stop them, the others chimed in:

"Morris, you lived in the Gallows Circle for years," Ruvena said. "Surely you saw that mages look like anyone else. They come from every country, every race..."

"Not dwarves," Rylen pointed out.

"Well yeah, not dwarves," Ruvena said. "But that just proves my point. There are a lot of dwarves with red hair, and they don't have magic. There are a lot of humans with red hair and they don't have magic either. Just look at Sister Nightengale. She has red hair."

"And she's *scary*," Morris whispered.

"Right," Cullen said, cutting this line of conversation short before Morris could derail them further. "Mages could be anywhere, and soon they'll be *here*. So, we have work to do. Ruvena, you'll be -"

"Drilling recruits," the woman said.

"And I'm putting statues of Andraste into broom closets," Rylen added, tipping his hand in a wry salute.

"I'm going to speak with Leliana about the maps," Keran said.

"And Morris..." Cullen trailed off, noting that the young man had clearly forgotten all about apostates. He was now staring at the stone wall as if transfixed. "Um, you go with Keran," Cullen finished.

Keran cringed but said nothing. Rylen and Ruvena looked a bit relieved.

"Alright then," Cullen said. "Dismissed."

Rylen, Ruvena, and Keran saluted. Morris turned as though he was going to ask something more. Thankfully, Keran grabbed Morris by the arm and dragged him off before he could say anything.

Cullen watched them all go, then looked down at the map of Haven and sighed.

"Broom closets, is it?" Cullen heard a voice ask.

Cullen straightened and whirled around at once. Behind him stood Divine Justinia herself. With that long white robe and the strange, flat-topped wimple on her head, she looked a bit like a human-sized chess piece. Cullen cringed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. He probably should not mentally compare the Most Holy to a rook, any more than he should have ordered Rylen to build chapels out of spare rooms.

"Most holy," Cullen said, sketching a small bow. Given how unfamiliar he was with courtly gestures like bowing, it came off a little stiff.

"Commander," Divine Justinia replied, her accented voice soft and calm. Even though she used his military title, Cullen could almost imagine she was saying, 'my son.' She took a step forward and waved at the table before him.

"So we need a few extra statues of Andraste, do we?" she asked, lightly.

"Well, you said you wanted everyone to meditate before the peace talks," Cullen hedged. "And unless we pack them into the great hall like cattle..."

"An inspired solution," Justinia said, surprising him. "In fact, I volunteer to pray in such a room."

"What, really?" Cullen asked. "I thought you'd be holding vigil with all the grand clerics."

"I could use a moment of quiet before it all begins," Justinia said, almost to herself. "Besides," she added, lifting her head, "the Maker hears our prayers no matter where our rears are seated. Is that not so?"

Cullen made a face. "Just how much of our meeting did you listen in on?" he wanted to know.

"Enough," Divine Justinia said, lips pursed in amusement.

*Wonderful,* Cullen thought. He could handle officers and recruits well enough - even 'special' cases like Morris. Military rank and daily operations were familiar ground to him. But when cast out on the waters of social niceties, Cullen frequently felt as though he was floundering. Was the Divine offended by what he had said in the meeting, he wondered? Did she expect him to apologize for it? Cullen wasn't quite sure. But then, that slight smirk suggested that she was more amused by his irreverence than offended. Thank the Maker for that.

"If you take one of the makeshift chapels," Cullen warned Justinia, "you may end up meditating in a storage room." Far from upsetting the Divine, she just inclined her head patiently.

"In the unfinished wing," Cullen added.

Justinia chuckled. "Very good," she said. "If I meditate in such a place, then I set an example, no? It will discourage squabbling over the gilded chapels." She paused and sighed. "At least, I pray it will. We have enough to worry about without fighting over such insignificant things."

Cullen had nothing to say to that. Justinia looked at the table for a moment, then raised her pale blue eyes to his face.

"Commander," she said, "I did not come here to listen in on your meeting..."

*Though that appears to have been a side effect,* Cullen thought, still feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Rather, I came to tell you that you must not be seen when the delegates arrive in Haven."

Cullen frowned. "I won't enter the temple, as agreed," he said. "Though I still think you ought to take Lady Cassandra and Sister Nightengale with you. They are your bodyguards, after all."

"No," the Divine shook her head. "We must all disarm if these talks are to work. But while Cassandra and Leliana will be watching the road up to the Conclave, I want you to stay out of sight entirely, Commander."

"What are you saying?" Cullen asked, growing irritated before he could quite catch himself. "You want me to hide in the Chantry for the weekend?"

"Or as long as the talks take," Justinia said, fixing him with a serious expression.

"Oh, for Andraste's sake," Cullen scowled. "Are the delegates really going to be so frightened by the sight of a former templar? I don't even wear the armor anymore."

"Commander," Justinia said, gently. When Cullen just folded his arms over his chest, she cocked her head at him. She now looked as though the chess piece of her body had been bent in half, and was about to topple over onto the board.

"It is not just that you served as a templar, Commander," Justinia said. "That would worry them well enough. It's that many of them know *where* you served."

Cullen's shoulders stiffened.

"You were there when the Ferelden Circle fell to demons and blood magic..." Justinia began.

"I survived that," Cullen said, curtly, before she could go on.

"But you must know the rumors that followed you. Some said that you wanted to annul the Ferelden Circle. Some said you killed mages with your own hands when that annulment was not granted."

"Just the former," Cullen muttered, looking away. He was ashamed to admit even that. He was not about to own that there were times when the latter had crossed his mind, too.

"You were quite wounded," Justinia said, softly. "I understand."

No, she didn't, Cullen thought. No one did. But that wasn't the point.

"I left Ferelden years ago," Cullen said, shortly. "In fact, this is the first time I've set foot in my homeland in almost a decade."

"And in the meantime you were in Kirkwall," Justinia said, patiently. "Everyone knows you were the Knight-Commander there."

"Knight-Captain," Cullen corrected.

"But when your commander lost control of the Circle..." Justinia pressed.

"When Meredith lost her *mind*," Cullen interrupted, "I stepped in and did what I could." He knew he was being rude, but he was past the point of caring.

"Commander, I admire what you did," Justinia said, holding up a hand as if in blessing. "It is why I sent Cassandra to recruit you. You protected the people of Kirkwall. When everyone pushed you to chose a side, you stood in the center of both mages and templars and kept the peace as best you could."

"And still it wasn't enough," Cullen said, looking up sharply. "I am well aware of what I did and did not accomplish."

If Justinia was put off by his sharp tone, she did not show it. "Commander," she said, mildly, "you did well. But the fact remains that you have a rather personal history with this conflict."

Cullen frowned at the wall. *That* was the understatement of the century.

"So because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'm to be punished now?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Justinia asked, peering at him.

"Isn't it?" he returned. "I will not allow my past to compromise the Inquisition's future."

"Commander," Justinia said, "There *is* no Inquisition. Not yet. Hopefully, not at all."

Cullen opened his mouth, then closed it. That was true, he thought. The Divine had her backup plan in place, just in case these peace talks did not work. Cullen had not realized how little faith he had in the idea of compromise until just now.

But then again, it was his job to plan for a battle, so that the Divine might plan for peace. As the leader of all the religious peoples of southern Thedas, the Divine personified faith. As the leader of her secret armies, Cullen personified caution.

"I cannot just sit idly by while the mages and templars fill the valley," Cullen said.

"Cullen," Justina said, kindly, surprising him with the use of his name, "I don't believe you've ever been idle for a moment in your life. And I don't ask you to stay out of sight because I wish to punish you. But your reputation is well known to both the mages and the templars. I cannot allow their fear of you to cloud their minds. And with everything else that must be done, I do not have time to correct their assumptions."

Cullen sighed. The Most Holy had a point. He didn't like it, but she did have a point.

*And she's the bloody Divine*, Cullen reminded himself. She could ask him to command her armies while wearing an Orlesian skirt and he'd be honor bound to do it. Staying out of sight - a reasonable request when he thought about it rationally - was something he ought to agree to at once. And yet, Cullen still chafed under the order.

"Very well" he said, gruffly. "I'll speak to Rylen and the others. They'll be my eyes and ears and I'll...stay in here." He curled a lip as he considered the small, cramped Chantry.

"Thank you, Commander," Justinia said, smiling. Cullen nodded, realizing that she could have just ordered him to stay away, but instead had taken the time to speak to him about it. He supposed this was why she was the Divine: she really did have the ability to get people to see things her way with her words alone.

Now she just had to work her verbal magic on the mages and templars.

"I'll stay here," Cullen added, looking at Justinia gravely, "but know that if anything goes wrong - anything at all - I won't stand by. At the first sign of trouble, I'll be up at that temple, and hang what anyone thinks."

"I knew you would understand," Justinia replied. "But I do not think it will come to that. You've set up walls and guards enough to keep us safe. And now, give yourself a chance to rest, my son."

Cullen knew he wouldn't rest in the days to come, but he nodded anyway. He gave the Divine as formal a bow as he could manage, then pretended to return to his notes as she walked away. The word "OSTWICK" swam before his vision as he glared at the table. Then, when he was sure the Divine was out of earshot, Cullen stabbed his fingers through his hair.

"Blast," he muttered to no one in particular. This was a complication he did not need. But, he reminded himself, the peace of the world rested on turning the Divine's hopes into reality. So if he had to sequester himself in the Chantry in order for the talks to go more smoothly, then he would see it done.

He would do it, but he did not like it. He most certainly did not look forward to spending the next few days - or weeks - stuck inside. With a wistful look out the doors at the lightly falling snow, Cullen sighed and returned to his work.


	5. Chapter 5 - Amaranthine Exchange

Kate walked through the busy streets of Amaranthine, gazing up at the stormy sky. It was rather hard to tell, she reflected, whether standing within the walls of a city counted as being out of doors or indoors. There was no roof over her head, but with all these high buildings about, she felt as though she was standing in a Chantry.

*A very crowded, very dirty Chantry*, Kate added silently. The cobblestones were smeared with mud and it seemed as though the locals used the alleyways as their trash bins. Kate found it astonishing that so many people could live in one place, and yet none of them had bothered to tidy up.

But ignoring the mess, what really struck Kate as odd about this city was that *she* was in it. She was walking through this port like a normal person, wearing normal clothes, with no attendant guard of templars or family members to watch her - and no one cast her a second glance.

Well, that fellow did, Kate amended. As she walked by a bakery, a man came out with a loaf of bread in his hands. He stopped in his tracks and stared at Kate, his eyes trailing down her legs and then back up her body to her head. The man cocked his head, smiled at Kate, and saluted with his sourdough.

Kate just blushed and looked away. That was odd, she thought. Was the man actually trying to make a pass at her? Outside of a bakery? They hadn't even been formally introduced, for Andraste's sake. Flushing to the roots of her hair, Kate hurried to the end of the street, turned a corner, and ducked out of sight.

Putting that awkward moment from her mind, Kate continued on, following the instructions she'd been given by one of the sailors. Just one street further into the city, Kate spotted the building she was looking for. The structure resembled a large house, and above the door was a sign bearing a painted lion and a gilded crown.

Kate walked up to the door and raised a hand. Her fist was an inch from the door before she stopped herself. With an inward chuckle, she let her hand drop. One didn't knock at inns, she reminded herself. One simply walked inside. Kate took a breath, then pushed the door open.

*So this is an inn,* Kate thought, as she let the door swing shut behind her. It was...

Well, it was disgusting, really. The floor in the common room was about as clean as the street outside - maybe less so. There seemed to be a sticky film over all the tables and since the lanterns were unlit, the only light came in from the high windows above. Considering how stormy it was today, Kate might as well be inside of a cave.

In the shadowy corner by the cold fireplace, Kate spied a movement. She cringed as she realized it was a nug, rooting among the ashes. Kate curled her lip in disgust. Nasty creatures, nugs. She'd kill the thing on principle, but that would probably alarm the guests.

Of course, Kate thought, looking around, it wasn't like there were any guests standing about. Where *was* everyone? It was mid-morning, after all. She had heard that taverns were busy places, but maybe that wasn't the case. Kate walked to the bar. There was a counter with kegs behind it, and beside that was a short flight of stairs that led up to a hallway. The hallway was even more cave-like than the common room - a square, narrow hole leading back into darkness and flanked by a few doors.

Kate frowned. She didn't want to wake anyone, but she *was* in a bit of a hurry.

Feeling foolish, Kate called out, "Hello?" Her voice fell heavily into the quiet. Not even the nug responded to her query. There was long silence. Kate was about to call out again when she heard a thud. Kate heard shuffling, then murmuring.

"Hello?" she called again, a little more loudly this time. Almost immediately, a door down the hallway opened. A woman walked out, tugging heavy-soled shoes onto her feet. Her auburn hair was down about her shoulders, and she held a piece of cloth in her fist. As Kate watched, the woman unfolded the cloth - an apron, Kate now saw - and began tying it about her waist.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Kate took a step forward. It seemed someone worked at this inn after all. But before she could address this person, the woman reached the top of the stairs and finished with her apron. She gazed down at Kate with a sultry smile.

"Lookin' to wet your whistle, stranger?" the woman asked. "Or are yeh lookin' for a warm bed?" She strutted slowly down the stairs, giving Kate a wink for good measure.

Kate blinked in surprise at the second blatant come-on she had received that morning. Did all Fereldens flirt this outrageously, she wondered?

"I, um, no," Kate said, clearing her throat. A thought suddenly occurred to her. Perhaps she had wandered into the wrong sort of establishment by mistake.

"This *is* the Crown and Lion, is it not?" Kate asked.

"'Tis," the woman nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, good," Kate said. She was in the right place, then. "I'm not looking to stay," she went on, as politely as she could. "Rather, I'm looking for someone. A guest of yours, or so I understand."

"What kind of a someone?" the woman asked, suddenly wary.

"Lord Trevelyan," Kate replied.

"Lord?" the woman snorted. "Do we look like the kind of place that serves lords?"

*Not at all,* Kate thought, dryly. But she kept this comment to herself. Obviously, her dear cousin had not thought to introduce himself by his title.

"His name is Robert," Kate tried again. "Tall, lanky man in his late twenties? Dark complexion, gold eyes..."

"And a honeyed smile that will make a woman gladly drop her small clothes," the tavern keeper finished with a sigh.

Kate pressed her lips into a thin line and refrained from replying. It seemed that Robert was here after all. Kate had heard several women say the same of him over the years. And good for Robert, she supposed, but Kate really didn't want to hear the details of his bedroom prowess. To Kate, he'd always be her younger cousin, the goofy boy who'd followed her around the manor with jam on his face.

Besides, this woman's praise was the most ridiculous thing Kate had ever heard. A smile to make a woman's small clothes drop? Preposterous. A smile was a mere spasm of facial muscles. Lips and teeth, no matter how healthy, could not exert gravitational force. And they could certainly not exert a force so specific as to target only the unmentionables of the female population.

But Kate did not say all this aloud. Instead, she just said: "Can you tell me which room he's staying in?"

"Here now," the woman said, her smile fading as she placed her hands on her hips. "Who are you? You're dressed like a merc, but you talk like a..." Her eyes suddenly went wide.

"You're not his *wife*, are you?"

"No," Kate shook her head. *And Maker preserve whatever woman decided to take Robert on*, she added silently.

"I'm his cousin," Kate explained. "He was supposed to meet me at the docks over an hour ago, but I imagine he forgot."

"You're his cousin?" the tavern keeper asked, doubtfully. She looked up at Kate's red hair, then back to her freckled face. "You don't look a thing like him."

"My mother is from near Highever, his mother is from Rivain," Kate said, reciting the explanation that she and Robert had given a thousand times in answer to that question. "Look, I'm kind of in a hurry here, so if you could just wake him, miss, er..."

"Sorcha," the woman replied. "And he didn't mention no cousin. Didn't mention no docks, neither." Her eyes narrowed even further.

Kate sighed. Of course Robert hadn't. It was, after all, the reason that Kate had been placed in charge of all the travel details. She was completely unfamiliar with the outside world, but, unlike Robert, she could at least get out of bed in the morning.

"Miss Sorcha," Kate said, as patiently as she could. "I really need to find Robert. If you could just..."

A noise in the hallway caught Kate's attention. The door that Sorcha had walked out of opened once again. Robert came hurrying out, carrying a bag, his bow, and a quiver in one hand, his boots in the other.

"Katie!" Robert shouted, loudly enough to wake the whole inn. "You're here!"

"Good to see you Robert," Kate returned. "I was just wondering where you were."

If Robert caught the censure in her voice, he didn't seem to care. He bounded down the steps into the common room and dropped his luggage at Kate's feet. He then swept her up into a hug, spun her around once, and set her down. Now a bit dizzy, Kate couldn't help but laugh.

"It's good to see you," Robert said, grinning down at her.

"You haven't changed a bit," Kate grinned back.

"Haven't I?" Robert asked. "I'm told I've grown even more handsome over the past year."

Kate snorted. She wasn't about to encourage her cousin's vanity, but it was true. Even though his clothes were a bit wrinkled and his jacket was unbuttoned, Robert was still the handsomest Trevelyan by far. In fact, with Robert, it seemed the more casually he dressed, the better he looked. Kate on the other hand, suspected she looked a bit like a weather-worn fennec.

Robert looked Kate over once, then frowned and confirmed her suspicions:

"And you, Kate..." He cocked his head to one side, then just gave up on a compliment. "Well, truthfully, you look dreadful, Katie, but I'm still glad to see you."

Kate laughed. Leave it to Robert to say exactly what he thought.

"Why thank you, Robert," she said.

"What have you done to your hair?" he asked, frowning at her.

"I sense that you dislike it," Kate said mildly.

"It's a bit short," he sniffed.

"Well, clearly I didn't cut it for you," Kate replied. "It's easier to take care of this way."

"And the freckles?" he asked, nodding at her face. "Those have gotten worse. I thought you mag-" he caught himself, then said: "I thought you fine ladies spent all your time indoors."

"You know I'm outside whenever I get the chance of it," Kate replied. "Anyhow, it's not as if you're one to talk about freckles. You have some too, you know."

"Ah, yes, but on *me* they're boyishly charming and devilishly attractive. Or so I've been told."

With this, he glanced over his shoulder. Sorcha had resumed her position behind the bar, and he gave her a knowing wink. The woman smiled, then returned to wiping a dirty glass with a greasy cloth. Kate rolled her eyes.

"At least let's find you something suitable to wear," Robert went on. "I mean, what *is* that exactly? A mercenary's coat?"

"It is, actually," Kate replied. "I thought it helped me blend in."

"If you're trying to blend in with a pack of vagabonds," Robert said, teasingly. "And is that blood on the cuff? How many templars have you been killing, Katie?"

"I..." The question came at her from no where, and Kate choked on the answer. Behind the counter, Sorcha looked up in alarm.

Robert realized his mistake at once. "I'm sorry, Kate," he said quickly. "I didn't mean..."

"I know," she said.

They stood there for a moment, awkward silence between them.

"We should probably get going," Kate said. "We have a boat to catch."

"This early?" Robert asked.

"It's a boat," Kate told him. "They sail with the tide - whether or not we're aboard."

"So you're saying we have no time for a pint," Robert said, slowly.

"No," Kate said, fighting an exasperated laugh, "We must go now."

"Alright then," Robert said. He reached down and pulled on his boots, then picked up his things. Robert walked to the bar and leaned over to give Sorcha a peck on the cheek.

As he did this, Robert handed Sorcha a small bag of coins. The pouch disappeared quickly into her pocket, and the woman handed Robert a small brown package in return. This he tucked into his bag.

"Thanks for everything," Robert said with a wink. He then turned to Kate and waved a hand at the doorway.

"Lead on," he grinned. Kate tried to say goodbye to Sorcha, but the woman had turned away. So Kate pushed through the tavern door and on to the city street. Robert stepped outside, looked up at the cloudy sky above, then smiled.

"Lovely day for a trip, eh?" he asked.

Kate also smiled. "Well, *I* think so," she replied. "I love stormy days. But our other travelling companions aren't all that thrilled with the weather."

"Companions?" Robert asked. "You mean we're going with some more mages?"

It occurred to Kate that of all the people she knew, Robert was the only one who would ask that as a genuine question. There was no hint of worry in his voice at all.

"My friend Colleen is coming along," Kate replied, setting off down the street. "I told you about her."

"The Dalish?" Robert asked, falling in step beside her.

"Ex-Dalish, yes. And a couple of templars will be with us, too."

"Templars?" Robert's nose wrinkled. "Eh. I hope they like to play cards. Not much else to do on a boat." He paused, then asked, "Is your Dalish friend pretty? I do like older women."

Kate chuckled, "So does she."

"Oh," Robert said. He paused, then asked, "Did the two of you ever..."

"No!" Kate laughed. "Honestly, Robert."

"Well," he said, "One hears things about Circles and their...studies."

"How Ferelden's Circle got those rumors going, I will never understand," Kate muttered. "Besides, you know I prefer men."

"Yes, and a very particular type, too," Robert agreed. "The type that doesn't exist, in fact. You're so picky..."

"Robert," Kate said, cutting him a glance. "The last time you set me up with a friend of yours..."

"Freddy is perfectly nice..."

"He was," Kate agreed. "He was also terrified of me. All your friends are, and I've done with it."

"I just didn't want you to be bored during that house party," Robert replied.

"That wasn't why you did it," Kate said, raising an eyebrow, "You wanted to court that widow, and Freddy was competition. You guilted him into attending to me instead."

"'Court'," Robert sniffed. "I would never..."

"Seduce, then," Kate said. "Look, I know for you it's all in good fun, but I'm not like you, alright? Not all of us like waking up in strange beds, Robert."

"They're not strange," Robert replied. "Often they have very nice, soft, squishy women in them."

"Like your friend Sorcha?" Kate replied. "See, you wake up in a strange bed and you nearly missed our boat."

"But it worked out," Robert replied. "And besides, I couldn't have left any earlier. I needed that package that she..." He broke off, then quickly glanced away.

"Yes, Robert?" Kate said, looking over at him. "That *was* an awful lot of coin. Or was that for services rendered?"

"No," Robert frowned. "Maker no, Kate. Sorcha's an old friend."

"Right," Kate rolled her eyes.

"She is, she often gets me things I can't find else...where..." he trailed off, realizing Kate was now looking at him with interest.

"So she's a smuggler?" Kate said, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Maker's breath, lower your voice, Katie."

"Sorry," Kate whispered. She paused then said, "I always wondered how smugglers operated. I wish I'd been able to ask her some questions."

"You do research on *that*, Kate," Robert warned her, "and you're likely to get your throat cut."

"Likely," Kate grimaced. "Still, it's fascinating. Do all smugglers feature nugs in their establishments?"

"Nugs?" Robert asked, confused.

"Never mind," Kate replied. "So, what did she sell you?"

"Er, nothing," Robert said, quickly. "So! We're off to the Conclave, are we?"

"That's the plan," Kate said, allowing the change of subject.

"And it's going to be held in, um... Denerim?"

"Did you read *anything* of the letter my parents sent to you?" Kate wanted to know.

"I read enough to know that you were coming to collect me, and that I had time to visit the Crown and Lion. The rest was all boring tripe that I ignored."

"Of course you did," Kate shook her head.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Robert said. "I know enough about it to be worried."

"Worried?" Kate frowned.

"Aren't *you* worried?" he asked her. "You do realize that this could all be a trap, don't you? The Divine, the peace talks. Everyone is whispering about what the other side might do to take advantage."

"Oh, I know," Kate sighed, still walking along. "Believe me, we've discussed the possibility at length."

"And yet, you're still going," Robert said. They walked under the city gates now, the low opening over them for a moment like a cave. Kate shrugged and shook her head.

"Even though it could be suicide?" Robert pressed.

"What choice do I have?" Kate asked, her voice rising. Beyond the gates, the houses grew thinner, giving way to hills and fields, and the road before them wound down and to the left, headed for the sea. Kate started to walk down the path more quickly, but Robert grabbed her elbow to stop her.

"What?" Kate said, turning to look at him.

"Alright," Robert said. "I'll ask you this just once and then leave it alone. How bad was it? Honestly, Katie."

Kate looked away sharply. She closed her eyes against the memories and shuddered as a long sigh left her.

"That bad?" Robert murmured.

"It could have been worse," Kate said, her voice cold as ash.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't bad," Robert said, sounding angry. "The rumors we heard..." He frowned. "They say..."

"Please don't talk about it," Kate implored him. "I don't think I could explain it if I tried."

"But now you're going to the Conclave," Robert said. "Explain *that* to me."

"*You're* going to the Conclave, too," Kate returned. "Explain that to *me*. Did you really just agree to come because my parents told you to? What did they say to convince you, Robert?"

Robert gave her a one-shouldered shrug and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't think I came just for the pleasure of your company?"

"You once called Ferelden 'the land of mabari and mud and mighty bad food'," Kate said, folding her arms over her chest. "So, no. I don't think you're here for me."

Robert scowled and looked over Kate's head. "I got in trouble with your father," he said. "And don't ask me how. But what about you, Kate? You're going just because your Circle told you to? I never thought of you as a Loyalist."

"I'm not!" Kate protested at once. "I'm just..." She sighed, letting her arms drop. "I'm not a rebel," she said again. "I'm not *for* the Circles either. All I know is that people died, Robert. Mages killed other mages. Templars killed other templars. And each side has been killing the other. This can't be right. None of this is right."

"And what do you think the Divine is going to do about it?" Robert countered. "You really think she can stop this?"

"I have no idea," Kate said, honestly. "But she's the only person who's willing to try. Well," she amended, "she's the only person with any real influence who's willing to try."

Robert nodded, considering that. "So what will you be pushing for?" he asked her. "The end of the Circles? All the mages to return home like good little prisoners?"

"No. Well, I don't know." Kate's brows furrowed. "I honestly don't know," she finished, weakly.

"Come on, Kate," Robert said, frowning at her. "This is your chance to get free of it all."

"And how many people are going to die in the process?" Kate wanted to know. "When innocent people are getting slaughtered because of this war..." She shook her head.

"Forget about all of them for a minute," Robert said, folding his arms over his chest. "What do you want for yourself, Katie? Do you ever think of that?"

Kate looked up at the misting rain. She *did* think of that. But she never allowed herself to voice her wants aloud. As a mage, it was simply too dangerous to articulate one's desires. It gave the templars too much leverage. So Kate had learned to keep her feelings hidden. And even now, even though it was Robert asking, Kate couldn't speak her longings aloud. So instead, she shrugged.

"Don't you want to be free to live your own life?" Robert asked her.

Kate gave a bitter laugh. "That sounds lovely. But I hardly know what that would look like anymore." She shrugged, helplessly. "I really don't know, Robert," she said. "We're not children anymore, thinking we could just run off and live as pirates. I have no idea what would be best for myself, much less all the other mages in the world. I'm hoping that the next few days of travel make it all clear to me."

"What? You hoping the Maker will suddenly up and speak to you? Andraste herself will send you a sign of how you, personally, can stop all the fighting?"

"Oh, that would be nice," Kate said, giving a sad little chuckle. "But no. I would settle for a coming up with an opening statement that doesn't make me sound like I'm a boot-licking Chantry apologist or a red-handed bloodmage rebel."

"Opening Statement?" Robert repeated. "Let me guess. You've already written it out."

"Eleven drafts and counting," Kate said with her usual smile, the kind that curled one half of her mouth and dimpled one cheek. Then her smile grew sad and she looked off down the path.

"We need to keep walking," she told him. Robert nodded, and they set off again. A few steps later, Robert sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"This is a shite excuse for a reunion," Robert said.

"It is, rather," Kate agreed.

They walked on in silence for a moment, then Robert said:

"Speaking of family reunions, your parents were quite insistent that I keep an eye on you."

"Oh?" Kate asked, "They told me the exact same thing about you."

"Huh," Robert said, almost smiling again. "Funny how they seem to think that neither of us can take care of ourselves."

"True enough," Kate said. "But they made all the travel arrangements and sent aid to the Circle, so I'm rather grateful for their overbearing nature at present."

"Did you see them before you left?"

"Briefly," Kate said, remembering back to that afternoon. "Just before I got on the ship to cross the Waking Sea."

It had been an awkward meeting, too. Kate had wanted nothing more than to hug her parents. But duty and honor mattered more than reassurance to the Trevelyans. Her family would never risk displays of affection in such a public place as the Ostwick docks. Kate had just listened as they handed her the travel papers and explained the trip details. As she'd gone to leave, Kate's father had reached out his arm. Kate thought he was going to shake her hand, but instead, Bann Trevelyan just handed his daughter an extra pouch of coins. Kate's mother had looked back as their carriage pulled away, however. So that was something.

Ah, family, Kate thought with a sigh. No one else could make her feel quite so much like a child inside.

"My parents wrote the letters of introduction," Kate told Robert. "I have yours in my pack, by the way."

"No doubt it's some bit of drivel that will make me sound like I'm an Orlesian debutante, out to beg a dance at my first ball."

"Yes, that's about right," Kate smirked, thinking of her own letter. "They make us sound respectable, well-mannered..."

"And boring," Robert grumbled.

"Five minutes in your company ought to disabuse anyone of the notion that you are either respectable *or* well-mannered," Kate replied.

"Thank you for that," Robert replied, half-smiling at her. He paused there, then his face darkened.

"So, they're sending us off as their tithe, aren't they? Their own personal donation to the Holy Chantry."

Kate frowned at that. "I wouldn't call it that," she murmured. "I think they mean well."

"They're cowards," Robert said, harshly. He hiked his pack higher on his shoulders and his strides lengthened. "All the Trevelyans are."

Kate had nothing to say to that, not at first. She just sped up to match his pace. At last she ventured: "They do care, Robert. They're just..." she shrugged, not knowing how exactly to explain it.

Robert slowed, almost to a stop. He ducked his head, then looked up.

"And I guess I'm about to prove a coward myself," he said, scowling. "That's what it feels like, anyhow. The thing is, Kate..." He took a deep breath, then ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I'll be joining the templars once the talks are over," he said, flatly.

"What?" Kate stopped short. "But I thought..."

"It's decided," he said, harshly, turning to face her. "Father won't let me wiggle out of it for another year."

"I thought you were too old to join," Kate protested.

"I hoped I was," Robert said. "But with the chaos, it seems they'll take anyone these days. Even a rogue like me." He tried to smile, but failed.

"If I'm lucky though," Robert went on, "the mages will get their way and the Divine will disband the Order entirely. That'll solve my problems."

"And if they don't?" Kate pressed.

Robert shrugged.

"You don't have to join," Kate told him.

"What else am I going to do with myself, Kate?" Robert said, raising his hands in the air in exasperation and walking on. "Your father has been pushing for this for years. And now my father's joined him. I'm something of a disgrace to the family name, in case you hadn't heard."

"That's absurd," Kate said, firmly.

"Yes, well, I may have pushed it too far," Robert glanced away. "Anyhow, that's not the point. The point is, everyone's sick of the youngest son of the youngest son bringing so much scandal down on our house. Either I make a man of myself and join the Order or I'm cut off."

"Father would never do that," Kate said, shaking her head.

"He was pretty angry last I spoke to him. I suppose I could manage well enough without the money, but I don't much fancy the idea of never speaking to anyone in the family again."

"I'd still speak to you," Kate said, immediately.

"And that does me so much good when you're off in the tower all the time," Robert said, bitterly. Kate blinked at the vitriol in his voice.

"So you'll throw yourself on the mercy of the templars instead?" Kate asked.

"It's time I started doing something with myself."

Kate frowned. That sounded like something her father would say, not Robert. Her fears were confirmed when Robert added:

"Anyhow, that's what the package from Sorcha was all about. Lyrium is more expensive than I thought."

"Lyrium!" Kate exclaimed, then caught herself and hissed: "Lyrium? Are you insane, Robert? You don't want to get caught buying that stuff from smugglers."

Robert just shrugged. "I figured I'd better have some on hand," he said. "I know the other templars rely on the Chantry for their supply, but if the war drags on, it might get hard to come by. Better to be prepared, right? And if I don't join the templars, I'll sell it to one of the knights at the Conclave. Make a little coin."

He spoke as if this was simply practical thinking. Kate shook her head, trying to make sense of this news.

"You know that once you start taking that stuff..." She broke off, not wanting to voice all the terrible changes that happened once templars got addicted to lyrium. It made them stronger, true. It gave them the ability to counter spells and weaken the presence of magic. But the more a templar took, the more mad he or she became.

"Please don't do this, Robert," she begged him.

"Don't worry, Kate," he said, quietly. "We'll still have time together at the Conclave before it all begins."

"And then after, the Chantry owns you for life."

"At least I'd belong," Robert muttered. "Right now, I don't fit anywhere."

Kate blinked at that. It wasn't like Robert to be serious or feel sorry for himself.

"Robert..." she began.

"Don't mind me," he said, holding up a hand. "I'll be fine. Anyhow, you have bigger things to worry about. Like how we're going to survive traveling in that old thing." He pointed down the hill, to where the docks had now come into view. "Maker's arse," he said, "Don't tell me that's our ship."

"Just to West Hill," Kate said, absently. "Then we take a barge up the canals and then another ship across Lake Calenhad."

"And then a proper carriage, I hope?" Robert asked.

"It's the Pilgrim's Path, Robert," Kate told him. "Once we reach the landing point, we're expected to walk up the mountain to Haven."

"Unnatural," Robert replied, shaking his head. "Travel on foot? That can't be what the Maker intended."

Kate tried to match his smile, but she failed. Robert always picked himself up rather quickly. But would he continue to do so after this, Kate wondered? Would he still laugh so easily as a templar?

Kate quickly turned her head away and looked out at the sea, feeling worry and sorrow drop into her, like one stone after another. She drew a breath, then, with forced brightness, said:

"So. Mage and templar, off to the Conclave together?"

"I suppose so," Robert said. "And after..."

And after, Kate thought, there would either be peace, or the two of them would be on opposite sides in this war. But she couldn't bring herself to say that, so she didn't. Robert didn't say it either.

"And after it's over, I'll buy you a drink," Kate said gamely.

"Just the one drink?" Robert grinned. "I hope it's a damned big glass. After a forced pilgrimage, I'll need it."

"Fine," Kate replied. "I'll buy you a whole round. And then we can play a game or two of chess."

"Oh, not chess!" Robert laughed, and shook his head. "I'm terrible at chess."

"Exactly," Kate replied. "And if you've been drinking, you'll be even worse."

"Wicked Grace," Robert said, naming his favorite card game. "With a few drinks in me, we'd be equally matched."

"Alright then," Kate agreed. "Peace talks first, then drinks and a game of Wicked Grace."

"Now that," Robert said, smiling, "almost sounds like a reason to go to the Conclave."


	6. Chapter 6 - Penitents

"You up for a game of Wicked Grace, Curly?"

Cullen glanced up from his work table and fixed the dwarf with a severe look.

Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and general pain in the neck - had been brought to Ferelden to tell the Divine about what had happened in Kirkwall. Cullen rather doubted that anyone would be getting a straight story out of the dwarf, as Varric was known for embellishment. Clearly, the dwarf was bored out of his mind with all this waiting, for he was pestering Cullen at every opportunity.

Unfortunately, Cullen had a very hard time ignoring Varric. The dwarf seemed to know just what to say to draw people in to unwanted conversation.

"My hair does not _curl_," Cullen protested before he could think better of it. Varric just chuckled in response.

"Not since Leliana gave you that tonic," the dwarf said, squinting at Cullen's head. "You got a lot better at styling yourself since you left Kirkwall. I'm impressed. I would have thought Ferelden would turn you feral. But now you almost look presentable."

"I almost look...?" Cullen caught himself before he rose to Varric's bait. He ignored the dwarf one moment more, then couldn't help but say, "I still don't understand why you call me 'Curly.' Even if my hair did curl once, it doesn't anymore."

"Yeah, well, 'Blondie' was already taken," Varric muttered darkly. He frowned at the floor, then looked up and said, more cheerfully. "So, Wicked Grace?"

"Varric," Cullen said, with a weary sigh, "The peace talks begin in the morning."

"Right. I got that. And?"

"And now is hardly the time for a card game."

"On the contrary," Varric said, easily. "You're stuck in here, I'm stuck in here. Now is the perfect time for a game." To illustrate this, he sat himself down on a nearby box, placed his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall.

"I quite disagree," Cullen said, looking down at his papers.

"Come on, what else are you going to do?" the dwarf asked. "Glower at the wall until all this is over?"

"I _do_ actually have patrols to run, even from in here," Cullen said. He flipped through his papers, looking over one report, then another. Neither was the one he needed.

"Patrols, huh?" Varric said, folding his arms over his chest. "Too bad you can't be out there yourself."

_"_Maybe I should send _you_ to monitor the Pilgrim's Path," Cullen muttered.

"Ha!" Varric laughed. "As if Cassandra would ever allow that. Anyhow, I like it better here in Haven. It's as far from the mages and templars as I can get and there's even a tavern nearby."

"Is that why you haven't run away yet?" Cullen asked. "Too much work to flee through the mountains?"

"Eh," Varric shrugged. "That's part of it. Also, I don't imagine that a certain woman with the title of 'Seeker' would let me go missing for very long."

"Good point," Cullen conceded. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had gone to great lengths to drag Varric all the way here. She wasn't likely to let him escape so easily.

"And hey," Varric added, "I'm a sucker for plot lines full of doom and gloom. I just have to stick around and see the mess for myself. This Conclave thing isn't going to end well, mark my words."

That made Cullen look up at last. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Call it a hunch," Varric shrugged. "Or, you know, literary expertise. I'll tell you this much, if I were a mage, I wouldn't come anywhere near this place. I'd suspect this whole thing was a trap."

"If _you_ were a mage, someone would have made you tranquil long ago," Cullen muttered.

Varric blanched at this. "What?"

"That was a joke," Cullen clarified.

"You know," Varric said, cocking his head to one side. "Sometimes I'm not sure about you, Curly."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It just means that sometimes you're alright. And sometimes, you're scary. I once saw you knee a guy in the groin so you could question him about demons or some shit."

"Did I?" Cullen honestly couldn't remember. Given how insane Kirkwall had gotten toward the end, he may have done so.

"He turned out to be an abomination, if that jogs your memory," Varric told him.

It didn't, actually. Cullen supposed it was a testimony to the insanity of his past, but all those abomination attacks sort of ran together after a while.

"And now you and Cassandra and Leliana just stand in corners and whisper all the time. It creeps me out. What are you people up to?"

"Business for the Divine," Cullen said vaguely.

"Yeah, and _that's_ not evasive at all."

"The Divine's business is none of _your_ business, Varric," Cullen told him.

"See, this is why the whole things feels like a trap," Varric said, wagging his finger at Cullen. "Not to mention, the location isn't exactly inviting."

"We're in the middle of the mountains," Cullen replied. "There's only so much you can do to make the place livable."

Case in point, Cullen presently lived in a tent, the better to set an example for his men. It was damnably cold, too.

"It's not the village," Varric said. "It's the temple itself. You know, the one that guarded Andraste's sacred ashy remains? Fire, fire, ashes, and fire? Oh, and did I mention the fire? If I were a mage, I'd go running in the other direction. It all sounds so...burny."

"Burny," Cullen repeated. "I'm quite certain that is not a word."

"Sure it is," Varric said, curling his fingers and considering his nails. "I just made it up."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "And where would you have suggested we hold this, Varric?" he asked, though he knew he should just ignore the dwarf. "The Hanged Man?"

"Oh, so you _can_ joke about Kirkwall."

"This is neutral ground. Justinia herself has blessed it as such."

"The most sacred site of the Chantry is neutral ground?" Varric laughed. "Dare to dream, templar."

"I am not a templar," Cullen said. His words came out so harsh, he surprised even himself.

"Not anymore," he added. Blast it, he thought, looking down at the table. Where were those reports? Varric was quiet for one blessed moment, then he opened his mouth again.

"You know," he said. "I think we should hold this whole thing in the Deep Roads."

At the mention of the Deep Roads, Cullen paused. That seemed to tickle something at the back of his mind, but he couldn't think what.

"That's what we ought to do," Varric went on. "Just dump all the mages and templars in there and don't let them out until they've stopped arguing."

"Yes, and dumping mortal enemies into a darkspawn-filled cavern is decidedly better than inviting them to a temple," Cullen chuckled. Whatever he was thinking of a moment before he'd forgotten it.

"Damn right," Varric nodded. "Haven is cold, remote, and did I mention the cold? It's the ass end of civilization."

"Your complaints have been noted," Cullen said. _And summarily disregarded_, he though to himself. Just then, Cullen found the report he was looking for, and not a moment too soon. Lieutenant Ruvena walked up the table and saluted.

"Ah, good," Cullen said, without really looking at her. He snapped the report out in her direction. "Take this to Sister Nightengale," he said. "I'll be down to check on the recruits shortly."

"Uh," Ruvena blinked. "Yes, sir." She took the paper, saluted again and walked away. Cullen turned his attention back to the table.

"Well that was smooth," Varric said after a moment.

"What?" Cullen asked.

"I think she was hoping for a longer debrief, commander," the dwarf said, slyly.

Cullen frowned. "Who?"

Varric rolled his eyes. "Oblivious," he muttered. "So, cards?"

Before Cullen could refuse - again - a horn blew in the distance. He tensed, immediately associating the sound with battle. But then the Chantry bells began to chime a familiar melody. Cullen recognized it as the Canticle of Transfigurations. It was an interesting choice to begin the prayers, he supposed. A line from this chant had started this whole mess:

"_Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him_," Varric sang softly. Cullen stared at the dwarf in astonishment.

"Did you just _sing_?" he asked, blinking. "The _Chant_?"

"What?" Varric shrugged, looking away quickly. "I'm familiar with it. I know a lot of drinking songs, too. Anyhow, we'd better clear out. People are going to want to pray in here now."

Varric nodded to the the nave of the Chantry, which was quickly filling. One by one they walked in, placed a fist over their hearts, and then knelt on the stone floor.

"I have work," Cullen said, keeping his voice low. "If you'll excuse me, Varric."

As quietly as he could, Cullen gathered up his papers and headed out of the Chantry. Varric looked after the commander for a moment, then turned and considered the petitioners on their knees.

"Nah," Varric muttered to himself. With a shrug to no one in particular, he too wandered out of the Chantry. The snow had begun falling again, in light flakes that seemed unconcerned with how long it took them to reach the ground. All around him, the bells' music filled the air.

"The mountains make a better chantry than the Chantry," Varric observed to himself. And as he headed toward the tavern, the dwarf sang softly:

_O Maker, hear my cry._  
_I dwell without fire,_  
_I live without light._  
_O Creator, hear my prayer._  
_The night is long,_  
_The way is dark._  
_O Andraste, guide my feet,_  
_As sure as you once walked._  
_Though all before me is ash and snow,_  
_Still let the Maker be my might._

"_Though all before me is ash and snow_..." Kate sang softly.

"What?" Robert asked, giving her a strange look.

"Snow," Kate said, holding up her palm. A small flake rested there, quickly melting against her skin.

"What about it?" Robert asked.

"It's part of the chant," Kate said, looking down at the droplet left behind. "But it also occurs to me that this is the first time I've seen snow."

Another flake fell on her hand, and Kate watched that one melt, too.

"You've seen snow," Coll snorted. "Mythal's tits, Kate. You can _make_ snow."

"Yes, but _I_ made it. Not the Maker," Kate returned.

"You've seen snow before, haven't you?" Robert asked, looking somewhat troubled by that notion. "I mean, you've seen it on the Vimmark Mountains, right?"

"I suppose," Kate replied. "But that was at a distance. This is entirely different. It's..." she looked about, then gave a wistful smile. "It's beautiful."

"Right," Coll said, grabbing Kate's hand, "Snow is pretty, and you have other things to worry about. So this would be the part where you turn that scholar's brain of yours toward other things. Like the peace talks? Remember those?"

"Of course I remember," Kate said, letting her hand drop. "I was just appreciating...never mind." She sighed. "Yes, the peace talks. I won't let you down, Coll."

"I know you won't," the elf replied, but she still looked concerned.

"Don't worry about me, Coll," Kate said, trying to lighten the mood, "Worry about keeping yourself entertained for the weekend." She waved a hand at the village in general. "I don't think they have a library here."

"No," Robert agreed. "But they have a tavern." He nodded toward it with a grin.

Just then, a dwarf in a red shirt opened the door and walked inside. A round of 'Hey!'s and 'Varric!'s greeted him, and Kate heard music playing before the door swung shut again.

"You see?" Robert said. "Bawdy songs and Ferelden ale are _much_ better than a library."

"Says you," Coll sniffed. But then she smiled a bit and added, "'Course, it's been a long while since I had a pint. And I _do_ know some good Dalish drinking songs."

"Are they naughty Dalish drinking songs?" Robert asked, raising a brow.

"Filthy," Coll replied. "How's your elvish?"

"Non-existent," Robert admitted. "Kindly translate the good parts for an ignorant shem, will you?"

"I think you ought to stay alert," Lysette said, frowning at them both. "Getting drunk seems like a poor idea. Especially if you're trying to impress the templars, Lord Trevelyan."

Kate pursed her lips to avoid laughing out loud. Robert was not interested in impressing any templars - save perhaps, Lysette herself. But Lysette had not responded to Robert's flirting over the past few days. Of course, Lysette hadn't responded to Colleen's flirting, either.

"Stay alert?" Robert laughed. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, this place is crawling with guards. They hardly need my help keeping order. What do you say, Coll? I'll buy you a drink. Can you manage a full pint? Or should I make yours a half?"

Kate just groaned. "Please don't break my friends, Robert," she begged.

"Go on with you," Coll said, frowning from one Trevelyan to the other. "You shems think that just because you're bigger, you can hold your drink better. You're about to find out how wrong you are, boyo."

"Alright," Kate said. "I take it back. Colleen, please don't break my cousin."

"I'll take it easy on the lad," Coll said, patting his arm as if he was a child in pinafores. Kate sighed and shook her head.

"And you asked me why I wasn't taking them to the peace talks," Kate said to Lysette, waving a hand at the other two.

"I was going to go to the Chantry for prayers," Lysette replied, frowning. "But if you want me to stand guard over them in the tavern..."

"No, no," Kate said, quickly. "They'll be fine. Sick in the morning, but otherwise fine."

"Go on and pray to your maker, Lyssy," Coll assured the templar. "Robbie-boy and I will be fine."

"Yes," Robert agreed. "Say a prayer for all of us. And as for you, Kate, you'd better get going. The sun will be setting soon."

"I suppose I should..." Kate said. She trailed off, looking up at the mountains beyond the wooden walls. On the way here, it was easy enough to forget about the coming Conclave. Robert and Coll had done their best to distract her, to make her laugh. But now that they were here, she could no longer ignore the real reason for this pilgrimage.

"Maker watch over you, Lady Trevelyan," Lysette said, solemnly.

_Maker watch over us all_, Kate thought. She shivered, but she pasted a smile on her face.

"Enjoy Haven," she said, brightly. "I'll find you when this is all done."

Lysette gravely shook Kate's hand. Coll gave Kate a 'you've got this' sort of look and a quick hug. Robert gave her a cheeky grin, but it came off a bit queasy.

"Be careful," Robert said. He wrapped his arms around Kate, and because he was so much taller, she found her cheek squashed to his chest.

"I'll be fine," she assured him.

"I meant be careful on the hike up," he said, releasing her. "I have this notion that you'll get distracted by the snowflakes or the view or something and plummet to your death."

"I will not," Kate protested.

"Almost did twice on the way up," Coll said, hiking a thumb over her shoulder.

"Just keep your eyes on the path," Robert said. "You really should have gone with Ser Ira. He's a bit grim, but he could have kept you on your feet, at least."

"I wanted to see you all settled first..." Kate trailed off, then shrugged. "Well." She smiled weakly, and then, having nothing else to say, she turned and walked away.

Kate reached the end of the street before she looked back, but her friends were already gone - into the tavern or the Chantry or wherever they'd wandered. And suddenly, Kate felt very alone. The air seemed colder, the snowflakes more brittle. Kate turned and walked on.

She plodded past the quiet smithy, past the empty stables, and up the narrow path. Along the way, she spotted a few nugs, rooting around in the frosty underbrush. Kate resisted the urge to blast the nugs. It wouldn't do any good to compromise the peace talks, all for the sake of eliminating some vermin. The thought almost made her laugh.

As she came around the next corner, Kate spotted a great stone gate. On the other side was a narrow bridge, and the words "Penitents' Crossing" were carved over the massive doorway. The name was quite fitting, Kate thought. She felt awfully penitent and meek at the moment. It didn't help that she was running late.

Kate hurried through the archway, and was just about to set off across the bridge when someone cried:

"And where do you think you're going?"

Kate gasped in alarm. She whirled around, only to find that the bridge wasn't as vacant as she had previously thought. A man stood behind her, with a paper-strewn table at his side. The man wore a cleric's tunic and one of those silly-looking sunburst hats that marked the brothers of the Chantry. An armored woman stood beside him. She was a few inches shorter than Kate, but with much more muscular arms and legs and she wore a sword at her hip. Upon her breastplate was emblazoned the symbol of an eye, with lashes like flames.

Kate shrank back a bit. This woman was a Seeker, she thought, nervously. The Seekers policed the templars - or they had done so once. But according to rumor, the Seekers had left the Chantry and gone off hunting mages. And if there was a Seeker _here_...

Kate swallowed. Maybe this Conclave was a trap, after all.

"The temple is off limits to anyone but delegates to the peace talks," the cleric told her, oozing condescension. "All others must stay below in Haven."

"I _am_ a delegate," Kate said.

The man snorted. "You are?" he asked, clearly unbelieving. "A templar recruit, no doubt. But you still can't come in here."

"I'm a mage," Kate said, digging into her satchel at once. "I have papers and everything."

The cleric gave her a withering glare, then turned his attention to the woman at his side.

"Seeker Pentaghast," he practically sneered, "I _warned_ you about this kind of thing. If you don't set a limit on when the delegates arrive, they will be trailing in from now until Wintersend."

"Well, I hope the talks don't go on _that_ long," Kate said with a little chuckle.

Both cleric and Seeker turned and glared at her. Kate swallowed. _Oh_, she thought. So neither of them had a sense of humor. Good to know.

"Sorry," she said, quickly. The Seeker turned her attention back to the cleric.

"All delegates are invited to attend," she said. The woman had a thick Navarran accent and rather obvious disdain for her clerical companion. "The Most Holy would not close doors on the penitent faithful. As much as you love your lists, Chancellor Roderick, they mean little in the face of the Divine's mercy."

Chancellor Roderick glowered. Kate would never dare to provoke an armed woman in such a manner, but then, her sense of self-preservation was far stronger than her sense of pride. The cleric turned his attention back to Kate.

"Who are you?" Roderick asked her loftily.

"Um, Kate?" Her voice came out a bit squeaky. "Of Ostwick?" She cringed to hear how she'd managed to turn a single statement into two questions.

"That would be Lady Katerina Rosella Trevelyan, correct?" Seeker Cassandra asked.

Kate did a double take. "Have we met?"

"No," the woman returned. "But I know of you. Your templar - Ser Ira, was it? He mentioned you'd be along shortly."

Roderick rolled his eyes and turned to the table beside him. Kate saw that all the papers were neatly stacked, with a rock to weigh down each pile. The cleric reached out and made a little note on one of the lists before him.

"Right," Roderick said, crisply. "Papers?" He held out his hand to her.

"Um, yes," Kate said. "Right here." She handed her letters over. Roderick examined them with brusque efficiency.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, as he read through the letter from the Circle. "As official as we can expect in these times." He turned his attention to the other letter - the one bearing the seal of a horse with it's mane flying. His expression softened at little as he read that letter.

"Hmpf," Roderick sniffed. "I'm glad to see that *some* of you mages have ties to the right sorts of people. We need all the Loyalists we can get."

Kate felt a flare of anger at his words. This man knew nothing of her, and for him to presume...

But years of learning to hold her tongue kept her from saying what she actually thought. Instead, she said:

"I am so glad you approve."

The cleric ignored her. The dark-haired Seeker, however, stared at Kate more intently than ever.

"Go on then," Roderick said, waving a hand at Kate. "The mercenaries at the temple will see you to your quarters."

"Um, thank you," Kate said. She didn't like the word 'mercenaries' very much, but it was a great deal better than hearing that templars would be squiring her about. Or Seekers, for that matter.

Roderick said nothing in response to this, but the dark-haired Seeker nodded shortly. As Kate turned away, Cassandra said:

"Maker guide your path."

Kate looked back. "And yours as well," she said politely.

With that, Kate turned and walked away. A long, winding path lay before her, all ice and mountains and wind. With a shiver, Kate drew her coat closer about her shoulders, and headed up into the gently drifting snow.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She prayed that she might refrain from doing bodily harm to Chancellor Roderick, at least for one more day. The man probably didn't realize how many prayers she'd said on his behalf.

"A mage in merc's clothing," the clerk said with a sneer. He directed his glare at the red-haired young woman who trudged away from them. "Most of them look more like they came from an alienage than from a Circle," Roderick went on. "It's like they're _trying_ to look pathetic, the better to sway Justinia's sensitive heart. It's likely to work, too."

Cassandra rolled her eyes heavenward. Many of these mages had been living on the run for months, she thought. She didn't support the rebellion in the slightest, but she did feel sorry for the mages involved. Many of them had been tossed into this war against their will.

Although, Cassandra thought, looking after the red-haired mage, *that* young woman didn't seem to like the Circles much. Roderick might have missed the fire in the woman's eyes when he called her a Loyalist, but Cassandra had not.

Yet again, Cassandra wished she could be up at the Conclave, the better to keep Justinia safe, should the rebels try anything foolish. But the Most Holy had decided to leave her bodyguard behind in Haven. It was most frustrating. And dealing with Roderick only added insult to injury.

"I'm going to prayers," Cassandra announced suddenly. Roderick frowned at her.

"Aren't you supposed to be guarding me?"

"I am guarding the _bridge_," Cassandra returned. "And as there are seven other guards within shouting distance and nearly all the delegates have arrived, I assume you will be able to manage."

Without waiting to hear his further complaints, Cassandra headed through the stone archway and down the path toward Haven. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to go to the training area and smack something with her sword. But Cassandra figured that during the prayer hour, she ought to at least try and settle her mind.

But surely a bit of food wouldn't go amiss, she thought. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. It was little wonder she was so grumpy. With the bells ringing the Canticle of Transfigurations over her head, Cassandra strode off toward the tavern.

"You know," Colleen observed, glaring into her glass, "This isn't much fun without Kate around."

Robert agreed, but he didn't want to say so out loud. He felt he ought to at least pretend this was going to be an amusing weekend.

"You go out drinking with Kate often, then?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation in another direction. Colleen laughed.

"Go on with yeh!" the elf said. "As if we ever could while in the Circle. The templars don't drink - well, not on duty, anyhow. And you think they'd let mages have spirits? Of either kind?" Coll laughed at her own joke, then stuck her nose back into her glass.

"Oh," Robert said. He considered that, then asked, "So what's it like in the Circle? I mean, what's it _really_ like? Kate doesn't talk about it much."

"Quiet," Coll shrugged. "Lot of books. Boring, really. I don't usually mind it, but everyone's awfully serious. Kate's one of the few who laughs."

Robert paused with his glass halfway to his lips. That sounded familiar. Hadn't he said something like that once before?

"Not that Kate's always makin' dumb jokes," Coll added. "But she sees how ridiculous it all is."

"It _is_ pretty ridiculous," Robert agreed.

"Sure is," Coll said.

They lapsed into silence, each drinking slowly. The tavern music lilted over them, and everyone in the place seemed to be in the same quiet, contemplative mood that they were. Only the dwarf in the corner spoke with anything resembling enthusiasm.

Just then, the door opened and a short haired woman walked in. Robert cocked his head. Pretty women walking into a room always caught his attention. And she had an especially nice-looking figure from here. Though, Robert thought, she did have awfully short hair. What was with this trend of women cutting their hair short? He didn't care for the fashion at all.

The woman walked to the bar - Robert watched her hip-swinging swagger with interest. She carried herself as if she were the deadliest person in the room. Robert had to admit, it was a good look. As she spoke to the barmaid, Robert studied the way the woman moved.

Most women he knew were nobles. They were always trying to float gracefully through rooms, or whatever it was they taught them in finishing school. Robert thought it made them look like someone had gracefully shoved something up their asses.

Then you had types who knew they were sexy and wanted everyone else to know it as well. Sorcha was like that. Robert knew a lot of women who were like that. They were usually his favorite type, too.

Some women just looked tired all the time, some clearly didn't care. And a very few managed to be adorably clueless. Kate was definitely in that category, Robert thought with a chuckle. She probably didn't realize how many of his friends had fallen for her I'm-cute-but-have-no-clue-that-I'm-a-woman walk.

But the way this woman moved was something else entirely. Robert took another drink, still watching her closely. She was like nothing he'd ever seen, really.

The woman turned around then, and leaned against the bar. Robert nearly choked on his ale. His eyes went wide, and he set his glass down hard enough to make ale slosh out onto the table.

"I'll be damned," Robert murmured.

"What?" Colleen said, frowning at him. She turned around, then cocked her head. She snorted, then turned back at Robert with an approving nod.

"Well-spotted, Trevelyan," she said.

"She's..." he murmured.

"Pretty," Coll agreed, turning to look at the woman again. "I can't decide if I enjoy having you around for your scouting abilities, or if you're a bit more competition than I like."

Robert would have laughed at that if he hadn't been so stunned.

For Coll was absolutely wrong. The woman wasn't "pretty." "Beautiful" didn't work either. "Exotic" was closer, but still not right for describing the woman's face.

"She's perfect," Robert muttered, scarcely aware he was speaking aloud.

Forget the short hair, he thought. More hair would just get in the way of those stunning, up-turned eyes. Her nose was perfect, Robert thought, her jaw was perfect. Even that scar on her cheek was perfect. She was just right - every inch of her. She carried herself like a queen, too, all proud shoulders and rustic armor and a sword at her hip. And damn it if her confidence wasn't drawing Robert in like a physical force.

_Void take me_, he thought, shaking his head. She was amazing. He hadn't been this struck by a woman in... Well, not in months, at least. Maybe not even in a year.

"Get yer eyes back in your head, Trevelyan," Colleen said, snapping her fingers in his face.

"I saw her first," Robert said, quickly.

"Yeh saw your grave first, then," Colleen snorted. "Did you not notice the tunic she's wearing?"

"Tunic?" Robert repeated. He'd been too caught up in studying the curve of the woman's jaw to notice her tunic.

"She's a Seeker," Coll hissed.

Robert nodded reverently. "And Maker, let me be _found_."

"You're mad, you are," Coll laughed. "We're supposed to stay out of trouble, aye? Still," she added, thoughtfully, "I wonder if that cute barmaid fancies elves."

"A Seeker?" Robert murmured, an idea suddenly occurring to him.

"I know," Coll said, taking another drink. "I'll go order us some food. And if I just happen to flirt with the pretty barmaid while I do so..." She grinned to herself.

"A _Seeker_! Robert said, pounding his fist on the table.

Colleen, the Seeker, the barmaid, and everyone in the entire tavern turned to stare at him.

Robert flushed. He hadn't meant to say it quite so loud.

"Uh..." he muttered.

In that same moment, the Seeker looked at him, and their eyes locked. Robert felt the world stop spinning for a moment.

Then the Seeker stiffened, spoke to the barmaid, and strode away. The world started spinning again, this time a little more quickly. The rest of the tavern turned back to their conversations with nervous laughs.

"Must be a templar," Robert heard the dwarf mutter from the corner. "No one does 'touched in the head' quite like the Order."

"Mythal love you, Robbie-boy" Coll chuckled, leaning forward across the table. "Here Kate talked about you like you were a worldly one. But you go just as moony as the next lad, don't yeh?"

Robert didn't bother to respond to this. The Seeker was getting away and he had to talk to her.

"I'll be right back," he told Coll. "Order me something." He tossed a few coins onto the table.

"You're mad," Coll protested. But Robert wasn't listening. He hurried to the door as quickly as he could, shoved it open and walked out into the cold. And all the while, Robert grinned.

He'd thought coming to the Conclave was the end of his life as he knew it. But having seen that Seeker, he realized it just might be a new beginning.

* * *

So hi everyone! I will continue this fiction each week - just not here. It's getting to be too much hassle to maintain three (3!) fanfic posting spots.

If you found my fic and like it, thank you so much. drop me a comment if you like, or better yet, hop on over to sagefic - dot - com and drop me a line there via twitter. or i'm on A . O . 3 as sagefic as well.

thanks for reading, and I hope to keep up with you in other places around the webs!

-sage


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